To My Lyre

O harp, with whom my childhood played, Within that verdant dell, O'erbower'd by boughs of grateful shade, I go—Farewell! farewell!

If I have durst to raise thy tone To sing a theme too high, Thou, thou must bear the sin alone, O harp, not I, not I.

For, thou had'st witch'd me with a love Where reason had no part; I felt that thou would'st e'en approve, And fondly heard my heart.

The song hath ended. Silence falls Round the enchanted dell; Awhile I heed no more thy calls, Sweet harp! farewell! farewell!