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!