580 ANNUAL REGISTER, 1805, 



In such free interchange of inward thought, 



As the calm hour invited ; or at times, 



Willingly silent, listemrig to the bird 



"Whose one repeated melancholy note, 



By oft repeating nielanciioly made, 



Solicited the ear ; or gladlier now 



Ilarkening that chceiiul one, who knoweth all 



The songs of all the winged choristers, 



And, in one sequence of melodious sounds^, 



Pours all their music. But one wilder strain 



At fits came o'er the w ater ; rising now, 



Now -with a dying fall, in sink and swell 



More exquisitely sweet than ever art 



Of man evoked from instrument of touch, - 



Or beat, or breath. It was the evening gale, 



Which, passing o'er the harp of Caradoc, 



Swept all its chords at once, and blended all 



Their music into one continuous flow. 



The solitary bard, beside his harp 



Leant underneath a tree, whose spreading boughs, 



With broken shade that. shifted to the breeze, 



Played on the waving waters. Overhead 



There was the lealy murmur, at his loot 



The lake's perj)etual ripple, and from far, 



Borne on the modulating gale, was heard 



The roaring of the mountain cataract. . . 



A blind man would have loved the lovely spot. 



Here was Senena by her lady led, 



Trembling, yet not reluctant. They drew nigh, 



Their steps unheard upon the elastic moss, 



Till playt'ully Goerryl, with quick touch, 



Ran o'er the harp-strings. At the sudden sound 



He rose. . . Hath then tliy hand, quoth she, O bard. 



Forgot its cunning, that the w ind should be 



Thine harper? . . Come! one strain for Britain's sake; 



And let the theme be woman ! . . lie replied. 



But if the strain oflVnd, O lady fair. 



Blame thou the theme not me ! . . Then to the harp 



He sung, . . Three things a wise man will not trust. 



The wind, the sunshine of an Apiil day, 



And woman's plighted faith. I have beheld 



The weathercock upon the steeple point 



Steady from morn till eve, and I have seen 



The bees go forth upon an April morn. 



Secure the sunshine will not end in showers : 



But when was woman true ? 



False bard ! thereat, 

 With smile of playful anger, she exdaim'd. 



False 



