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MUSIC.
TO A BOY OF FOUR YEARS OLD, ON HEARING HIM PLAY ON THE HARP.
weet boy! before thy lips can learn
In speech thy wishes to make known,
Are “thoughts that breathe and words that burn,”
Heard in thy music’s tone.
Were Genius tasked to prove the might,
The magic of her hidden spell,
She well might name thee with delight
As her own miracle.
Who that hath heard, from summer trees,
The sweet wild song of summer birds,
When morning to the far-off breeze
Whispers her bidding words;
Or listened to the bird of night,
The minstrel of the starlight hours,
Companion of the firefly’s flight,
Cool dews, and closèd flowers;
