Poems (Campbell)/Stanzas (Blithe as the birds that wing the air)

by Dorothea Primrose Campbell

For works with similar titles, see Stanzas.

STANZAS.

  Blithe as the birds that wing the air,
   Erewhile my mountain lyre I strung;
  And deem'd the rudest scenes an Eden fair,
   Through which its wild notes rung;—
The sterile vale, the green inconstant sea,
And barren heath-clad hills were all to me.

  But now no more they give delight,
   As in departed days, I ween;
  For gloomy sorrow's long and starless night
   Envelopes ev'ry scene:
The zephyr's wing, that gently flutters by,
Scatters in air the frequent sigh.

  Then, faithless flatt'rer, Hope, adieu!
   Thy song no more can soothe my heart;
  Thy fairy pencil, dipp'd in rainbow hue,
   No longer can impart
To this deluded breast one moment's joy;
There pangs of cureless woe thy loveliest scenes destroy.

  Ah! wherefore should this feeble hand
   Essay again to strike the lyre;
  No cherish'd friendship shall the lay demand,
   Responsive to the wire;
No seraph-voice of love, or friendship dear,
Shall steal, like strains from heav'n, upon mine ear.