Poems (Welby)/To Mrs. S. J. P———

by Amelia Welby

TO MRS. S. J. P———.

Lady, the last lay of thy muse's lyre
 Hath stirred the deep tides of my youthful soul;
The strain hath lulled to rest each wild desire,
 And soothed my feelings with its soft control;
Canst thou to me thy magic power impart,
The power to please the ear, and melt the heart?

'T is with an untaught hand I sweep the chords,
 Which yield to thee their softest, sweetest tone;
The only melody my touch affords
 Is wild and mournful as a wind-harp's moan;
But lyre and song are both too weak to tell
The thoughts, that in my throbbing bosom swell.

But thou hast bid me learn to quell and hush
 My thrilling feelings in my bosom deep,
To bid them all, when forth they fain would rush,
 Back to their cells, in silence there to sleep;
Ah! I have long since learned that bitter task,
To hide my feelings 'neath a different mask.

I know thee not, and yet our spirits seem
 Together linked by sympathy and love,
And, like the mingled waters of a stream,
 Our thoughts and fancies all united rove;
Our hands were never clasped, our lips ne'er met,
Yet still thine image on my mind is set.

I think of thee, sweet lady, as of one
 Too pure to mix with others, like some star
Shining in pensive beauty all alone,
 Kindred with those around, yet brighter far;
O! if I have one wish, it is to be
Such as my glowing fancy pictures thee!