STANZAS.
Reading edition
“Why will you never listen to an Irish melody?”—Query in a Ball-room.
The songs she sung—the songs she sung! How many a sigh they stole! Oh! there be lutes as sweetly strung, But none with half the soul That dwelt in every silver tone She drew from each sweet string: Oh! no,—the songs she made her own I will not hear them sing! The songs she sung—the songs she sung! How few and faint the words Of praise that fell whene’er she flung Her fingers o’er the chords; No plaudit followed when the strain Died on the quivering air, But tears were gushing forth like rain, And lips were quivering there! The songs she sung—the songs she sung! Long, grieving years are fled, Earth’s yearnings from the heart are flung, Earth’s hopes are with the dead; And worldly wrongs—forgot—forgiven— Sleep in Death’s second birth; But I would only hear in Heaven The songs she gave to earth!