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Literary Gazette, 27th August, 1825, Page 557
ORIGINAL POETRY.
SONG.
Oh, it is not for the laurel's sake
That I so love the lute;
Were those green leaves its only meed,
For me its chords were mute.
But I love to wake the song.
For it so well reveals
With ever low and gentle tones,
All that my spirit feels.
Oh, tell me not that general praise
Sheds sunlight on my name:
What has a woman's fearful heart
To do with aught like fame?
But the one charm that makes my lute
So very dear to me,
Is, that it can breathe of love!
And it can breathe to thee!
L. E. L.
