| Higginson and Bigelow, comps. American Sonnets. 1891. | | | | On Hearing an Eolian Harp | | By Peter Bayley, Jr. (1778?–1823) |
| | | SURE ’t is the voice of choired saints that flows | |
| Along the billows of the softened breeze…. | |
| And now, in falls and dying symphonies, | |
| So sweet it glides, that forth my rapt soul goes | |
| To join those hymnings, ta’en from all her woes. | 5 |
| Yet once more, and once more, ye minstrelsies | |
| Of power, my stormy spirit to appease, | |
| With some dissolving dream my thoughts compose…. | |
| Again your strains float, sinking on the wind, | |
| Soft, wild, and mournful all; now melt away, | 10 |
| Faintly perceived, like some expiring ray | |
| Of memory that trembles o’er the mind, | |
| Lovely in its departure, still enshrined | |
| As the blest relic of a happy day. | | | | |
|
|
