“Such were the notes thy once lov'd poet sung, Till death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue.”

“Made still a blund'ring kind of melody; Spurr'd boldly on, and dashed through thick and thin, Through sense…”

“He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay.”

“The soul of music slumbers in the shell Till waked and kindled by the master's spell; And feeling…”

“Where music dwells Lingering and wandering on as loth to die, Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof…”

“How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start When memory plays an old tune on the heart!”