Page:National Lyrics.pdf/163



"Music! why thy power employ Only for the sons of joy? Only for the smiling guests At natal, or at nuptial feasts? Rather thy lenient numbers pour On those whom secret griefs devour; And with some softly-whispered air Smooth the brow of dumb despair!"

music! stir the brooding air With an ethereal breath! Bring sounds my struggling soul to bear Up from the couch of death!

A voice, a flute, a dreamy lay, Such as the southern breeze Might waft, at golden fall of day, O'er blue transparent seas!