Page:1808 Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne.pdf/67



youthful transport led the hours, And all my way was bright with flowers, Ah! then my harp, thy dulcet note, To songs of joy would lightly float; To thee I sung in numbers wild, Of hope and love who gaily smil'd.

And now tho' young delight is o'er, And golden visions charm no more; Tho' now my harp, thy mellow tone, I wake to mournful strains alone; Ah! yet the pleasing lays impart A pensive rapture to my heart.

I sung to thee of early pleasures, In sweet and animated measures; And I have wept o'er griefs and cares, And still have lov'd thy magic airs: To me thy sound recals the hours, When all my way was bright with flowers.