Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/256

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Such were my myriad visions of delight. The lute, which hitherto in Delphian shades Had been my twilight's solitary joy, Would henceforth be a sweet and breathing bond Between me and my kind. Orphan unloved, I had been lonely from my childhood's hour, Childhood whose very happiness is love: But that was over now; my lyre would be My own heart's true interpreter, and those To whom my song was dear, would they not bless The hand that waken'd it? I should be loved For the so gentle sake of those soft chords Which mingled others' feelings with mine own.

Vow'd I that song to meek and gentle thoughts. To tales that told of sorrow and of love,