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THE LYRE AND FLOWER.
A lyre its plaintive sweetness pour'd
Forth on the wild wind's track;
The stormy wanderer jarr'd the chord,
But gave no music back.
—Oh! child of song!
Bear hence to heaven thy fire!
What hop'st thou from the reckless throng;
Be not like that lost lyre!
Not like that lyre!
A flower its leaves and odours cast
On a swift-rolling wave;
Th' unheeding torrent darkly pass'd,
And back no treasure gave.
