If my poor Harp has ever poured A tone that Truth alone can give; Thou wert the one who helped that tone To win the echo that shall live. For thou didst bid me shun the theme Of morbid grief, or feigned delight; Thou bad'st me think and feel; not dream; And "look into my heart and write." And looking in that heart just now; 'Mid all the memories there concealed; I find thy name still dearly claim The thanks in these few lines revealed. |