I see her still-by her
fair train surrounded,
The fairest of them all, she
took her place;
Afar I stood, by her bright charms
confounded,
For, oh! they dazzled with
their heavenly grace.
With awe my soul was filled-with
bliss unbounded,
While gazing on her softly
radiant face;
But soon, as if up-borne on wings
of fire,
My fingers gan to sweep the
sounding lyre.
The thoughts that rushed across
me in that hour,
The words I sang, Id
fain once more invoke;
Within, I felt a new-awakened power,
That each emotion of my bosom
spoke.
My soul, long time enchained in
sloths dull bower,
Through all its fetters now
triumphant broke,
And brought to light unknown, harmonious
numbers,
Which in its deepest depths, had
lived in slumbers.
And when the chords had ceased their
gentle sighing,
And when my soul rejoined
its mortal frame,
I looked upon her face and saw love
vieing,
In every feature, with her
maiden shame.
And soon my ravished heart seemed
heavenward flying,
When her soft whisper oer
my senses came.
The blissful seraphs choral
strains alone
Can glad mine ear again with that
sweet tone,
Of that fond heart, which, pining
silently,
Neer ventures to express
its feelings lowly,
The real and modest worth is known
to me-
Gainst cruel fate Ill
guard its cause so holy.
Most blest of all, the meek ones
lot shall be-
Loves flowers by loves
own hand are gathered solely-
The fairest prize to that fond heart
is due,
That feels it, and that beats responsive,
too!
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