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For now, like a charmless thing, thou 'rt thrown
To breathe out those tones in sadness.
To breathe out those tones in sadness.
I pity thee for each music-sigh,
Lost on the winds of heaven,
For the wasted flow of thy melody,
To the wandering zephyrs given.
Lost on the winds of heaven,
For the wasted flow of thy melody,
To the wandering zephyrs given.
Ah! thus it is with fond woman's heart,
When love comes o'er it stealing;
To each thrilling touch its chords impart
The music of every feeling.
When love comes o'er it stealing;
To each thrilling touch its chords impart
The music of every feeling.
Sorrow may o'er her spirit come,
Her brightest dreams dispelling,
Yet still, like a flower, her heart will bloom
If love in its depths is swelling.
Her brightest dreams dispelling,
Yet still, like a flower, her heart will bloom
If love in its depths is swelling.
And e'en should the spell, round her warm heart wove,
Be broke by the being that bound it,
Still memory will sweep o'er its chords of love,
And sweetness will linger around it.
Be broke by the being that bound it,
Still memory will sweep o'er its chords of love,
And sweetness will linger around it.
I mourn, thou harp, for no touch may bring
Back thy sweet tones departed,
Yet more do I mourn, thou wailing thing,
O'er the lost and the broken-hearted.
Back thy sweet tones departed,
Yet more do I mourn, thou wailing thing,
O'er the lost and the broken-hearted.
