46
THE TRIUMPHS
O'er softest notes her rapid fingers ran,
Sweet prelude to the Air she thus began:
Sweet prelude to the Air she thus began:
Sophrosyne! thou guard unseen!
Whose delicate control
Can turn the discord of chagrin
To harmony of soul!
Above the lyre, the lute above,
Be mine thy melting tone,
Which makes the peace of all we love
The bans of our own!
Whose delicate control
Can turn the discord of chagrin
To harmony of soul!
Above the lyre, the lute above,
Be mine thy melting tone,
Which makes the peace of all we love
The bans of our own!
So sung the nymph, not uninspir'd: the sprite
Invok'd so fondly in the mystic rite,
With richest music swell'd her warbling throat,
And gave new sweetness to her sweetest note.
As when the seraph Uriel first begun
His carol to the new-created sun,
The sacred echo shook the vast profound,
And chaos perish'd at the potent sound:
Invok'd so fondly in the mystic rite,
With richest music swell'd her warbling throat,
And gave new sweetness to her sweetest note.
As when the seraph Uriel first begun
His carol to the new-created sun,
The sacred echo shook the vast profound,
And chaos perish'd at the potent sound:
