George Darley (Джордж Дарли)

Lenimina Laborum. 7. To My Lyre

Hast thou upon the idle branches hung,
Lyre! this livelong clay,
Nor, as the sweet wind thro' the rose-leaves sung,
Uttered one dulcet lay?—
Come down! and by my rival touch be rung,
As tenderly as they!

Did not Alcaeus with blood-streaming hand
Range o'er his trembling wire,
Stealing forth sounds more eloquently bland
Than softness could desire;
As if with myrtle-bough sweet Venus fanned
His rapt Lesboan lyre?

And shall not I, that never will imbrue
This hand except in wine;
My battle-field, a bed of violets blue,
Where conquered nymphs recline;
Shall not I wake the soul of sweetness too.
Thou gentle Lyre of mine? 

1. The Gambols of Children
2. Lenimina Laborum. 55. Deep in the ocean's thundering wave
3. Lenimina Laborum. 4. Prayer at Burial
4. Lenimina Laborum. 32. In an Album
5. Lenimina Laborum. 6. I'm a rover! I'm a rover

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