Classic Poem

ON HER SINGING .

Such, skill'd the tender verse to frame,
And softly strike the golden lyre;
A stranger to the softening flame,
And new to every mild desire.

Sweets that crown the budding year,
Pour'd from the zephyrs tepid wing,
Saw Sappho in the grove appear,
The rival of the vocal spring.

To try the heart-subduing strains,
Anon the vernal scenes impell
O'er lofty rocks and rilly plains
Soft warbled from the' Eolian shell.

Or such as in the bright abodes,
The youngest Muse with glories crown'd,
To whom the Sire of men and gods
Gave all the enchanting pow'r of sound.

As at the banquet of the sky,
Freed from the giant's impious arms,
She drew each heavenly ear and eye,
With beauty mingling music's charms.

Had such a voice sure to prevail,
Soft warbled from the syren strand,
What wonder, if each amorous sail
Spontaneous sought the tuneful land.

Ev'n thou who cautious wing'st thy way,
Had given thy tedious wanderings o'er;
By Julia's all-persuading lay
Fix'd ever to the pleasing shore.

A face so sweet had sure prevail'd
With wisdom's self to hear the voice,
Whilst both the yielding heart assail'd,
Here wisdom might have fix'd his choice.