Methought I heard a whispering on the strings
Of hidden harps, in airy form that play,
And lend their voice to fair imaginings,
And wake young thoughts which in their cradles lay.
I wished to set the prisoned minstrels free,
Like liberated Ariels to sing,
And lend a voice to all that eye could see,
From the first dawn of the green light of spring,
To the last lowering sweep of winter's stormy wing.
_William Naylor's MSS._