Poems (Osgood)/The Broken Lyre
THE BROKEN LYRE.
A dainty lyre was lent to Joy,
A simple, frail, but treasured toy;—
And gaily sweet its tones were heard,
As warble of a wandering bird.
A simple, frail, but treasured toy;—
And gaily sweet its tones were heard,
As warble of a wandering bird.
A blooming boy from distant clime
Came by and caught its silvery chime,
He coax'd from Joy his fragile lyre,
And swept the strings with hand of fire.
Came by and caught its silvery chime,
He coax'd from Joy his fragile lyre,
And swept the strings with hand of fire.
Ah! wo the day—that reckless child
Awoke the chords with will so wild!
One pleading, passionate strain he play'd,
And broke the lyre, that Heaven had made!
Awoke the chords with will so wild!
One pleading, passionate strain he play'd,
And broke the lyre, that Heaven had made!
Ah! wo the day—that stranger sprite
Attuned to grief the plaything light,
And strain'd its chords with childish art!—
The boy was Love—the lyre a heart!
Attuned to grief the plaything light,
And strain'd its chords with childish art!—
The boy was Love—the lyre a heart!