Poems (Fields)/Song (There's many a magic spell)

by James Thomas Fields

For works with similar titles, see Song.

SONG.

 All the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold except his
wife's Harp. That, he said, was too closely associated with the idea
of herself; it belonged to the little story of their loves; for, some of the
sweetest moments of their courtship were those when he had leaned over
that instrument, and listened to the melting tones of her voice.
Irving's Sketch Book.

 There's many a magic spell:
Leave that untouched,—the strain it brings
 This heart remembers well.

Let that remain!—all else beside
 Go scatter to the wind!
The chords that won my home a bride
 No other home shall find.

It hath a power, though all unstrung
 It lies neglected now;
And from her hands 't will ne'er be wrung,
 Till death these limbs shall bow!

It hath no price since that sweet hour
 She tuned it first, and played
Love's evening hymn with the bower
 Her youthful fingers made.

A spirit like the summer's night
 Hangs o'er that cherished lyre,
And whispers of the calm moonlight
 Are trembling from the wire;

Still on my ear her young voice falls,
 Still floats that melody,—
On each loved haunt its music calls,—
 Go! leave that harp and me.