On his Lyre
When the deeds of Atreus’ son,
Or the Wreaths which Cadmus won,
My sounding lyre I bade to tell,
With love alone the chords would swell.
I chang’d the strings, I chang’d the lyre,
And thought it freely would respire,
Would sing Alcides’ glorious feats
But love alone it still repeats.
To mighty heroes, hence, farewell,
To love alone my lyre will swell.
December 20th 1805