Fireside happiness, to hours of ease Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
Ward has no heart, they say, but I deny it: He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.
Every day a little life, a blank to be inscribed with gentle thoughts.
To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
Go! you may call it madness, folly; You shall not chase my gloom away! There 's such a charm in melancholy I would not if I could be gay.
The soul of music slumbers in the shell Till waked and kindled by the master's spell; And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour A thousand melodies unheard before!