Classic Poem

The soul of song mine ear receives!
Sure, the sweet Deity of sound
To the still grove a lesson gives,
And feather'd scholars listen round!

The ravish'd world suspends its roar:
Creation all is mute to hear:
While artless music's utmost power
Is pour'd in Nature's wondering ear!

Pleas'd with her single chantress, Night,
Contented, scorns to envy Day;
Though countless warblers loud unite,
To sing his all-inspiring ray.

Now all the Landscape's lost in shade,
And Light forsakes the mourning eye,
It seems as pitying Sound essayed
His all of solace to supply.

The first soft rising of the lay
So gently pleas'd attention wins,
Scarce can the stillest hearkener say,
When silence ends, and voice begins.

By fine degrees her tuneful throat
Attains its silver height of song;
Then pours the round, dilated note,
And breathes the mellow smoothness long.

So when the heart Ulysses stole,
With accents low his lips began;
The music slowly swell'd its roll,
Till in full tides the honey ran.