Crippled his limbs, and sightless are his eyes;
I view the youth, and feel compassion rise.
He sings! how sweet the notes! in pleased amaze
I listen,—listen, and admiring gaze.
Still, as he catches inspiration's fire,
Sweeping with bolder hands the obedient strings,
That mix, harmonious, with the strains he sings,
He pours into the music all his soul,
And governs mine with strong, but soft controul:
Raptured I glow, and more and more admire.
His mortal ailments I no longer see;
But, of divinities my fancy dreams;
Blind was the enchanting God of soft desire;
And lame the powerful Deity of fire;
His bow the magic rod of Hermes seems;
And in his voice I hear the God of harmony.