And she led them to Religion's shrine,
Where Hope was humbly kneeling,
And there the tears of Joy did shine
With a light more dazzling, more divine,
They were mingled with tears of feeling.
There Love's wild wings shone calmly bright,
As over the altar he waved them;
There Pleasure folded her pinions light,
And fondly gazed with a sacred delight
On the scroll which Charity gave them.
MY LAST FAREWELL TO MY HARP
And must we part? yes, part for ever;
I'll waken thee again-no, never;
Silence shall chain thee cold and drear,
And thou shalt calmly slumber here.
Unhallowed was the eye that gazed
Upon the lamp which brightly blazed,
The lamp which never can expire,
The undying, wild, poetic fire.
And Oh! unhallowed was the tongue
Which boldly and uncouthly sung;
I bless'd the hour when o'er my soul,
Thy magic numbers gently stole,
And o'er it threw those heavenly strains,
Which since have bound my heart in chains;
Those wild, those witching numbers still
Will o'er my widow'd bosom steal.