Classic Poem

PEDAL HARP IN A GARDEN.

When an Eden zephyr hovers
O'er a slumb'ring cherub's lyre,
Or when sighs of seraph lovers
Breathe upon th' unfinger'd wire;

Not more soft those strains aerial,
Than these vision-sounds appear;
Sounds, too pure for sense material,
Which the soul alone should hear!

Now 'tis fancy's minstrel wildness,
Thoughts of flame, those notes impart —
Now misfortune's plaintive mildness
Melts and dies upon the heart!

Heav'n must hear — a bloom more tender
Seems to tint the wreath of May,
Lovelier beams the noon-day splendour,
Brighter dew-drops gem the spray!

Is the breath of angels moving
O'er each flow'ret's heighten'd hue?
Are their smiles the day improving?
Have their tears enrich'd the dew?

Hark, they sing! in that sweet measure,
More than harp, or zephyr spoke;
O what tones of mournful pleasure
On my tranced senses broke!

How it saddens, how rejoices,
Whilst I seem in Fancy's ear,
'Mid that choir of spirit-voices,
All I've lov'd, and lost, to hear!