_On hearing a young Lady singing a favourite Song._
Mild o’er the scene calm twilight reigns,
Her music wanders through the air;
While echo still repeats the strains,
That warbling charm “attention’s ear.”
The falling note, that cadence sweet,
The tuneful melody prolong;
My dying pulses slowly beat,
Such is the magic power of song.
A louder strain now swells the air,
My waken’d senses with it rise;
Such sweet confusion ransoms care,
And mitigates all rising sighs.