the world-worn lyre.
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THE WORLD-WORN LYRE.
Love! no more, with soul of fire,
Sweep the strings and sound the lyre
All too wild the sad refrain,
When thy touch awakes the strain.
Thou henceforth must veil thy face
With its blush of childish grace,
Still thy sweet entrancing tone,
Fold thy wings and weep alone.
Sweep the strings and sound the lyre
All too wild the sad refrain,
When thy touch awakes the strain.
Thou henceforth must veil thy face
With its blush of childish grace,
Still thy sweet entrancing tone,
Fold thy wings and weep alone.
Mirth! oh! ne'er again come thou
With thy careless, cloudless brow,
With thy frolic-fingers flying,
Lightly o'er the lyre replying,
Making music, like a smile,
Glisten thro' its strings the while.
Thou and I, gay sprite! must part,—
Go thou to some happier heart!
With thy careless, cloudless brow,
With thy frolic-fingers flying,
Lightly o'er the lyre replying,
Making music, like a smile,
Glisten thro' its strings the while.
Thou and I, gay sprite! must part,—
Go thou to some happier heart!
Lyre! amid whose chords my soul,
Lull'd, enchanted, proudly stole,
Lull'd, enchanted, proudly stole,
