Page:Felicia Hemans in The Literary Souvenir 1827.pdf/12

 Flowers upon thy graceful head, Chaplets of all hues are shed, In a soft and rosy rain, Touched with many a gem-like stain.

III. Thou hast gained the summit now! Music hails thee from below;— Music, whose rich notes might stir Ashes of the sepulchre;— Shaking with victorious notes All the bright air as it floats. Well may Woman's heart beat high Unto that proud harmony!

IV. Now afar it rolls—it dies, And thy voice is heard to rise With a low and lovely tone, In its thrilling powers alone; And thy lyre's deep, silvery string, Touched as by a breeze's wing, Murmurs tremblingly at first, Ere the tide of rapture burst.

V. All the spirit of thy sky Now hath lit thy large dark eye,—