Written on hearing an amiable young lady who sang with taste & feeling but who wanted strength of voice.
When Sappho — fair enthusiast! sung
To Lesbian youth their groves among
Rapt with her theme she swept the lyre
And fann’d each bosoms latent fire.
Her hurried hand wild love impell’d
Her voice tumultuous passion swell’d
Each thrilling pulse new measures beat
And exil’d reason fled her seat.
But list’ning to thy milder strains
No madd’ning tides distend the veins
Thy lips no opiate sounds dispense
To lull or steal the prostrate sense.
Ah no! a nobler task is thine
In giving song its first design
With music’s pow’r to join thine own
And charm our reason on her throne.