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