Page:Ambarvalia - Clough (1849).djvu/16

 Prelusive to the strain of love Which angels sing in heaven above?

Or is it but the vulgar tune, Which all that breathe beneath the moon So accurately learn—so soon? With variations duly blent; Yet that same song to all intent, Set for the finer instrument; It is; and it would sound the same In beasts, were not the bestial frame, Less subtly organised, to blame; And but that soul and spirit add To pleasures, even base and bad, A zest the soulless never had.

It may be—well indeed I deem; But what if sympathy, it seem, And admiration and esteem, Commingling therewithal, do make The passion prized for Reason's sake? Yet, when my heart would fain rejoice, A small expostulating voice Falls in: Of this thou wilt not take Thy one irrevocable choice? In accent tremulous and thin