'is believ'd that this Harp, which I wake now for thee,
Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea,
And who often at eve thro' the bright waters rov'd,
To meet on the green shore a youth whom she lov'd.
But she lov'd him in vain, for he left her to weep,
And in tears, all the night, her gold tresses to steep,
Till heaven look'd with pity on true love so warm,
And chang'd to this soft Harp the sea-maiden's form.
Still her bosom rose fair -- still her cheeks smil'd the same --
While her sea-beauties gracefully form'd the light frame:
And her hair, as, let loose, o'er her white arm it fell,
Was chang'd to bright chords, uttering melody's spell.
Hence it came, that this soft Harp so long hath been known
To mingle love's language with sorrow's sad tone:
Till thou didst divide them, and teach the fond lay,
To be love when I'm near thee, and grief when away!
'is believ'd that this Harp, which I wake now for thee,
