Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/287

278

Beautiful wreck! for still thy face, Though changed, is very fair; Like beauty's moonlight, left to shew Her morning sun was there.

Come, here are friends and festival, Recall thine early smile; And wear yon wreath, whose glad red rose Will lend its bloom awhile.

Come, take thy lute, and sing again The song you used to sing— The bird-like song:—See, though unused, The lute has every string.

What, doth thy hand forget the lute? Thy brow reject the wreath?