"The Broken Lyre" (3 Oct 1853)
Ballad
Composed by William H. Hartwell

Boston: OLIVER DITSON, 115 Washington St.
Plate No. 6304
[Source: 530090@LoC]

1.
I have not stuck my broken lyre so long,
  Its tones are strange to me,
Yet music's spell of holy fire
  Is on me as it used to be.
I could have sung, but would not sing;
  And yet, have sometimes wept to fling
My hand upon the strings,
  And wake the sounds which sleep so long,
And find in gentle realms of song,
  The calm that music brings.

2.
Welcome! thrice welcome to me now,
  I take thee to my heart again,
My ancient lyre and I will bow
  And woo thy soft consoling strains;
I will not part again from thee,
  If thou wilt lend thy light to me
Through this drear waste below:
  And thou shalt cheer the passing hour,
And sometimes drop a fragrant flow'r
  Along the path I go.

3.
And if the beautiful, the bright,
  Thou'lt show me, of earth and air,
The coral depths of ocean light,
  The grand, the gentle, and the fair,
And raise me on some muse's wings,
  I'll try to mend thy broken strings
Rekindle up thy fire!
  For the cold spendor of the earth
Can give me nothing that is worth
  The music of my lyre.