But oh Melpomene! thy lyre of woe -- To what a mournful pitch its keys were strung, And when thou badest its tones of sorrow flow, Each weeping Muse, enamored, o'er thee hung: How sweet -- how heavenly sweet, when faintly rose The song of grief, and at its dying close The soul seemed melting in the trembling breast; The eye in dews of pity flowed away, And every heart, by sorrow's load opprest, To infant softness sunk, as breathed thy mournful lay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON MUSIC by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR TO ONE IN PARADISE by EDGAR ALLAN POE LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT by HELEN SELINA SHERIDAN EPITAPH ON CHARLES II by JOHN WILMOT THE LAST CAESAR, 1851-1870 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH RECONCILIATION by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN IN DEEP PLACES by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |