TO
MISS E—— R——,
ON
HEARING HER SING A BEAUTIFUL INDIAN MELODY, ACCOMPANYING
HERSELF ON THE PIANO.
Dwells
there no joy in song?—OSSIAN.
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Oh,
yes! my fairest, there is a feeling,
Alone conveyed through the
tide of song.
Which, like enchantment, comes softly stealing,
When lips like thine its
sweet notes prolong.
And I could wish here to pause with pleasure,
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Catching
each soft melting tone that falls,
In purest rapture, like fairy measure,
Which joys departed once
more recalls.
And from each chord that now pliant trembles,
Sweet notes come flowing,
like the strains you pour,
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While
every thrill which that chord resembles,
Awakes a joy here unfelt
before. [Page 133]
Oh! could such moments but last for ever,
No other home I’d
seek for purer bliss—
Ah, no! dear girl, I would wander never
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| From
you, and raptures which hallow this. [Page
134] |
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