Could I but strike — a sweeter note
Than all from virgin choirs that float,
Or harps with cords of gold;
A note more soft and more sublime
Than she, the sweetest of the Nine,
Euterpe's strains unfold!
The note which even now I hear
( For angels breathe it in my ear )
But never dared to raise —
Could I but mention but thy name,
To whom I owe this sacred flame
And love's inspired lays!
Ah! then, methinks, when I should hear
My Muse employ that word so dear;
When thoughts of thee inspire;
In sweeter strains my song should swell
Than e'er from harp of Orpheus fell
Or Phoebus’ full-stringed lyre!