Harp of the North, Farewell!
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arp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending,And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy;Thy numbers sweet with nature’s vespers blending,With distant echo from the fold and lea,And herd-boy’s evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp!Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,And little reck I of the censure sharpMay idly cavil at an idle lay.Much have I owed thy strains on life’s long way,Through secret woes the world has never known,When on the weary night dawned wearier day,And bitterer was the grief devoured alone.—That I o’erlive such woes, Enchantress! is thine own. Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire,Some spirit of the Air has waked thy string!’Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire,’Tis now the brush of Fairy’s frolic wing.Receding now, the dying numbers ringFainter and fainter down the rugged dell;And now the mountain breezes scarcely bringA wandering witch-note of the distant spell—And now, ’tis silent all!—Enchantress, fare thee well!
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