The Poet to his Love
Hush! Hush! ye winds, ye zephyr sleep
Let nought disturb his soft repose.
The Graces, Helicon, the tuneful Nine
Swift to the poet’s fancy rose
The chorus raised their voice and sung.
The poet’s heart was rapture fired
And every cadence pierced his soul
And every strain new joy inspired
They sung of virtue, love, and truth,
In rev’rend age, in blooming youth
Sweet was the song, yet at the close,
The poet’s heart was filled with woes;
And thus is was
We’ve given the sceptre
And the laurel crown
To thee Ingrate!
Who sings of other love
But not thine own;
The just reproof the poet stung
The glittering tear stood in his eye
He seized his harp which lay unstrung
He blushed, and breathed a heart-felt sigh,
He tuned his lays to higher themes
Than those he sang before,
He sings his love! and virtues fair
Which dwell in Jove’s high bower
“Irene good, Irene dear!
To me in bounty given
To soften care, to sweeten life,
The gift of favoring heaven.
Fair justice rules thy mind,
Great Pallas lights thy soul,
Thy heart still feels for others woes,
By pity’s soft control.
Dear other-self, my earthly good
To me in bounty given
To soften care, to sweeten life,
The gift of favoring heaven.”
Well hast thou sung, the Muses cried,
Thy theme so good, thy words so true
Tomorrow string thy harp afresh,
we’ll hear thy faithful strain anew.