The Rhode Island American, And General Advertiser

Miscellaneous Selections.
To Miss ******, on her Singing.
BY THOMAS MOORE.
I more than once have heard at night,
A song, like those thy lips have given,
And it was sung by shapes of light,
Who seem'd like thee to breathe of Heav-
en!
But this was all a dream of sleep.
And I have said, when morning shone,
On! why should airy Fancy keep
These wonders for herself alone?
I knew not then that fate had lent
Such tones to one of mortal birth;
I knew not then that Heaven had sent
A voice, a form, like thine on earth!
And yet in all that flowery maze,
Through which my life has lov'd to tread,
When I have heard the sweetest lays
From lips of dearest lustre shed;
When I have felt the warbled word
From beauty's mouth of perfume sighing,
Sweet as music's hallowed bird
Upon a rose's bosom lying!
Though form and song at once combin'd
Their loveliest bloom and softest thrill,
My heart hath sigh'd, my heart hath pin'd,
For something softer, lovelier still!
Oh! I have found it all at last,
In thee, thou sweetest living lyre,
Through which the soul hath ever pass'd
Its harmonizing breath of fire!
All that my best and wildest dream,
In fancy's hour, could hear or see
Of music's sigh or beauty's beam,
Are realized at once in thee!