My lyre! oh, let thy soothing power Beguile once more the lonely hour; Thy music ever serves to cheer, To quell the sigh and chase the tear. Thy notes can ever wile away The sleepless night and weary day; And howsoe'er the world may tire, I care not while I've thee, my Lyre! None were around to mark and praise The breathings of thy first, rude lays; But many a chiding taunt was thrown To mock and crush thy earliest tone. 'Twas harshly done-yet, ah! how vain The cruel hope to mar thy strain; For the stern words that bade us part But bound thee closer to my heart. Let the bright laurel-wreath belong To prouder harps of classic song; I'll be content that thou shouldst bear The wild flowers children love to wear. If warmth be round thy chords, 'Tis Nature that shall yield the fire; If one responsive tone be found, 'Tis Nature that shall yield the sound. Gold may be scant-I ask it not; There's peace with little-fairly got. The hearts I prize may sadly prove False to my hopes, my trust, my love. Let all grow dark around, but still I find a balm for every ill: However chequered fate may be, I find wealth, joy, and friends in thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CEMETERY BY THE SEA by PAUL VALERY ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON TO CERTAIN POETS by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER KARMA by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON KEARNY AT SEVEN PINES [MAY 31, 1862] by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN AT ELLIS ISLAND by MARGARET LIVINGSTON CHANLER ALDRICH |