Could I But Mention But Thy Name;

Could I but strike—a sweeter note Than all from virgin choirs that float, Or harps with cords of gold; A note more soft and more sublime Than she, the sweetest of the Nine, Euterpe's strains unfold! The note which even now I hear (For angels breathe it in my ear) But never dared to raise— Could I but mention but thy Name; To whom I owe this sacred flame And love's inspired lays! Ah! then, methinks, when I should hear My Muse employ that word so dear; When thoughts of thee inspire; In sweeter strains my song should swell Than e'er from harp of Orpheus fell Or Phoebus' full-stringed lyre!