Oh! mistress of the melancholy song,
I love to bend before thy sacred shrine;
To thee my fondest early vows belong,
For pity's melting tenderness is thine.
Thine is the harp of wild expressive tone,
‘Tis thine to touch it with entrancing art;
Till all thy numbers vibrate on the heart,
And sympathy delights thy powers to own.
Oh! sweetest muse of pity and of love,
In artless song thy plaintive lyre I hail;
Be mine to weep with thee o'er sorrow's tale,
And oft thy pleasing visions may I prove.
"Thou mistress of the melancholy song,
"To thee my fondest early vows belong."