Poem by Louisa Stuart Costello

Miranda's Song

Ye elves! when spangled starlight gleams,
   That flit beneath the ray,
Till morning darts her magic beams
   And pale night hies away:
Ye know where springs each flow'ret rare,
   The sweetest seek for me:
I'll weave a chaplet rich and fair—
   My father! 'tis for thee!

The flow'rs, the trees, the birds appear
   To wait but on my call;
But he whose power has plac'd them here
   Is dearer far than all:
My thoughts with tender pleasure rest
   On each delight I see;
But all the love that swells in my breast,
    My father, is for thee!

1. Song for a German Air
2. Eastern Song
3. Sylph's Song
4. The Dreamer on the Sea-Shore
5. November Fifth

Print

1379 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version