Sonnet Xv

TO MISS AUGUSTA COWELL. [To whom I owe the popularity of some of my favourite ballads.] WHEN thy light fingers touch th' obedient chords, Which, with a gentle murmur, low respond, Waiting the measure of the coming words From that sweet voice, so plaintive, sad, and fond,-- Say does some wingéd Ariel, hovering near, Teach thee his island music note for note, That thou may'st copy with an echo clear Th' enchanted symphonies that round thee float? Or do all Melodies, whilst thou art playing, (Each with the offering of some chorded sound,) On the low slanting sunbeam earthward straying, Like meek subservient spirits wander round; In Harmony's dim language asking thee Which of them, for the hour, shall thy attendant be?