’Twas near the cool Aonian fount reclin’d,
Courting dull melancholy’s devious shade;
While misery and grief usurp’d my mind,
And dark despair my every thought pourtray’d.
The neighbouring dells responsive to each moan,
Vibrate each sigh and echo’d groan for groan:
Wrapt in affliction, stranger to repose,
In solitude’s dark cell wept o’er my woes;
’Till lovely Clara’s heaven-born lyre
With melting softness and Apollo’s fire
Expell’d the ebon shades of darken’d night,
And heavenly glories burst upon my sight:
When she strikes the trembling strings,
When through tepid air it rings,
When it vibrates through the gale,
When it does our ears assail,
When, borne upon the ambient breeze along,
Entranc’d we listen to the magic song;
Forget our cares and lull our griefs to sleep,
While fancy learns of sacred truth to weep:
Serene amid the angry storm,
She checks the frenzied passion’s scope;
And radiant as an angel form,
Smiles on the death carv’d urn of hope:
As when Favonius joins the solar blaze,
And each fair fabric of the frost decays.
And shall we then again be friendship’s guests,
Again with Clara’s smiles shall I be blest;
Again together hail each raptur’d scene,
Where happiness’ bright rays shall on us beam;
Again wipe the big drop from misery’s eye,
And shed the soften’d tear of sympathy.
Like the bright Ledean stars together roam,
And Clara and her Emma be but one;
And when bright Cynthia’s lucid light
Breaks through the opaque clouds of night,
And throws a fulgent radiance round,
At death’s cold tomb will we be found:
And o’er our relative’s sad bier,
Together shed the sacred tear:
Through night’s dark vista thus pour out our soul,
While sorrow’s magic power our minds controul;
And when the sun’s returning light
Drives each humid cloud away,
We together will unite,
And bless them with the new-born day:
And with soft cadence through the solemn glade,
Perform a requiem to their lifeless shade.
Yes, lovely maid, thy Emma’s heart
Friendship’s soft sympathy ’ll impart;
Will catch the tear’s effulgent glow,
Repress the bosom’s swelling flow.
In dark oblivion’s grave her woes confine,
And bow fore’er at friendship’s hallow’d shrine:
For her she’ll seek the flow’ret’s bloom,
The woodbine’s delicate perfume;
The jasmine breathing sweets divine,
And the rubic eglantine.
Then quickly fly, swift as old winged time,
And round her temples the fair wreathe entwine.
And didst thou think thy Emma could refuse
The gift sent by thy heavenly muse;
So valued--with so kind a view,
To thy poor friend--alas! not due;
Who if to thy soft soothing lay
The trembling wire she did essay;
To strike--perchance one casual note,
Upon the liquid air to float:
Inspir’d by thy sweet muse supreme,
Of happiness might dart a gleam.
To thy mellifluous harp the sounds belong,
For thou alone attun’d the friendly song:
As the pale moon that does illume the night
From heaven’s bright radiant orb receives her light,