Classic Poem

PLAYING ON THE HERP — AN INFANT ASLEEP IN THE CRADLE .

I.

Why , have I asked, do painters give
Each muse and grace the female charm?
Mean they to make a goddess live? —
Or rather, mortal hearts to warm?

II.

And, why do realms of heav'nly light
With golden harps so sweetly sound?
Those realms are regions pure and bright;
The music suits celestial ground.

III.

Fair harper, o'er that various lyre
Still let thy fingers lightly move;
So shall each bosom glow with fire;
So melt with pity, or with love.

IV.

But thou, sweet babe, art sunk in rest,
Unheedful of the charming strain:
Insensate is thy little breast,
Can taste no pleasure, feel no pain.

V.

Nor dost thou heed thy father's smile;
Nor watch thy grandsire's wistful eyes.
Sleep on, blest infant! — yet awhile,
And thou shalt glow with kindred ties.

VI.

Soon may thy generous bosom learn
To raise the heart, that droops with woe;
With Freedom's thrilling raptures burn,
With sacred love of country glow:

VIII.

Soon mayst thou shew thy mother's face,
Attune her harp, and catch her eyes;
And, drest in every female charm,
Appear some angel from the skies.