THE NEGLECTED HARP.
O! why art thou left, thou lone harp, here,
With none to awake thy slumbers,
Save the minstrel wind as it lingers near
To call forth thy plaintive numbers!
With none to awake thy slumbers,
Save the minstrel wind as it lingers near
To call forth thy plaintive numbers!
O sadly sweet is the wild, wild strain,
That over thy light chords lingers;
For ne'er will those light chords breathe again
To the touch of a mortal's fingers.
That over thy light chords lingers;
For ne'er will those light chords breathe again
To the touch of a mortal's fingers.
The hand, that once caused thy chords to thrill,
A lovelier harp may awaken,
But the spirit of music will haunt thee still,
Although by that hand forsaken.
A lovelier harp may awaken,
But the spirit of music will haunt thee still,
Although by that hand forsaken.
And she, who around thee roses flung,
May wreathe them in brighter bowers;
Yet sweetness around thy chords hath clung,
And perfume around thy flowers.
May wreathe them in brighter bowers;
Yet sweetness around thy chords hath clung,
And perfume around thy flowers.
I pity thee for each altered tone,
That once gushed forth in gladness,
That once gushed forth in gladness,
