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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416306" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On Æolus's Harp</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ethereal race, inhabitants of air,<br>Who hymn your god amid the secret grove;<br>Ye unseen beings, to my harp repair,<br>And raise majestic strains, or melt in love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those tender notes, how kindly they upraid,<br>With what soft woe they thrill the lover's heart!<br>Sure from the hand of some unhappy maid, <br>Who died for love, these sweet complainings part.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But hark! that strain was of a graver tone,<br>On the deep strings his hand some hermit throws;<br>Or he, the sacred Bard, who sat alone<br>In the drear waste, and wept his people's woes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such was the song which Zion's children sung,<br>When by Euphrates' stream they made their plaint;<br>And to such sadly solemn notes are strung<br>Angelic harps, to soothe a dying saint.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Methinks I hear the full celestial choir,<br>Through Heaven's high dome their awful anthem raise;<br>Now chanting clear, and now they all conspire<br>To swell the lofty hymn from praise to praise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let me, ye wandering spirits of the wind,<br>Who, as wild fancy prompts you, touch the string,<br>Smit with your theme, be in your chorus joined,<br>For, till you cease, my Muse forgets to sing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Thomson">James Thomson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416306" data-title="On Æolus's Harp de James Thomson" data-description="Ethereal race, inhabitants of air,
Who hymn your god amid the secret grove;
Ye unseen beings, to my harp repair,
And raise majestic strains, or melt in love.

Those tender notes, how kindly they upraid,
With what soft woe they thrill the lover's h..."></div>
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