The solemn-breathing air is ended—
       &nbspCease, O Lyre! thy kindred lay!
From the poplar-branch suspended
       &nbspGlitter to the eye of Day!

On thy wires hov'ring, dying,
       &nbspSoftly sighs the summer wind:
I will slumber, careless lying,
       &nbspBy yon waterfall reclin'd.

In the forest hollow-roaring
       &nbspHark! I hear a deep'ning sound—
Clouds rise thick with heavy low'ring!
       &nbspSee! th' horizon blackens round!

Parent of the soothing measure,
       &nbspLet me seize thy wetted string!
Swiftly flies the flatterer, Pleasure,
       &nbspHeadlong, ever on the wing.