226
Spangling the world of waters o'erWith mimic gems from shore to shore,Till ocean, burning on the view,Glows like another heav'n of blue,And its broad bosom, as a mirror bright,Reflects their lucid path, and all the fields of light.
TO AN OLD MUSICAL INSTRUMENT.
While some, of their fictitious lyres,A mournful farewell take,Deep tones of sorrow from thy wires,My trembling fingers wake:What though thy tones were wild and rude,Yet oft they pleas'd mine ear,They charm'd my hours of solitude,And sweeten'd ev'ry tear!Partner of many a lonely hour,And soother of its pain,Farewelll!———thy soft consoling pow'rShall never charm again!Then fare-thee-well!—for we must part,—A lighter hand, a gayer heartMay wake thy notes with better skill;—With more of music's melting art,A sadder never will!
FINIS.
