Classic Poem

What heav'nly sounds assail my ears?
Is this the music of the spheres?
Oh! could you thus for ever play,
You'd steal my ravish'd sense away.
Now, wrapt in ecstasy profound,
I dwell upon the sacred sound,
And, to each movement of your art,
Responsive beats my raptur'd heart.
Still as you raise the soothing strain,
New pleasure thrills through every vein;
To move, to breath, we almost fear,
And every sense is lost in ear.
Methinks, while now the pulse beats high,
That thus I'd almost wish to die,
With sweet excess of bliss opprest,
And sooth'd by melody to rest.
Music, 'tis thine to charm the soul,
The rage of passion to controul;
And from thy sacred stores impart
Each varied feeling to the heart.
The wretch in deepest sorrow drown'd
Forgets his cares when charm'd by sound.
Music can teach the breast to glow,
Or bid the tear of pity flow;
With glory fire the dastard slave,
Or melt to tenderness the brave.
Hard is the heart it cannot charm,
And cold the breast it cannot warm.
While in life's rugged path I stray,
May music's charms beguile the way,
And death convey me to the plains
Where harmony eternal reigns.