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POEMS.
SONNETON RESUMING THE LYRE.
Once more I snatch my lyre, my much lov'd lyre,
From the dark willow where it long has hung:
But my weak fingers tremble o'er each wire,
For oh! the hand of sorrow has those wires strung.
It was my pastime once, in happier hours,
To strike those chords, and songs of joy to sing,
From the dark willow where it long has hung:
But my weak fingers tremble o'er each wire,
For oh! the hand of sorrow has those wires strung.
It was my pastime once, in happier hours,
To strike those chords, and songs of joy to sing,
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