Lyra.
Still, still, fair minstrel ! pour along1
Thy wildering passion-tide of song—2
For oh, the ear that once hath heard3
Must treasure up thy every word.4
And, if no instant burst of praise5
Reward the pathos of thy lays,6
How sweet—how exquisite must be7
That voiceless eloquence to thee !8
For Flattery’s honeyed words will throng9
To welcome every breath of song—10
The tuneful and the tuneless strain11
Alike his heartless praise can gain.12
While Admiration—eye and ear—13
Anxious will hold his breath to hear,14
Inhale each silvery tone, until,15
Even when ’tis past, he hears thee still.16
And thus, sweet Lyra ! pour along17
Thy wildering passion-tide of song—18
Who once hath heard for aye would hear19
Such soft, sweet music soothe his ear !20