Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DYING BARD'S PROPHECY, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DYING BARD'S PROPHECY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: The hall of harps is lone tonight
Last Line: Winds! Bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Edward I, King Of England (1239-1307); Massacres; Prophecy & Prophets; Wales; Welshmen; Welshwomen


THE hall of harps is lone to-night,
And cold the chieftain's hearth:
It hath no mead, it hath no light;
No voice of melody, no sound of mirth.

The bow lies broken on the floor
Whence the free step is gone;
The pilgrim turns him from the door
Where minstrel blood hath stained the threshold stone.

"And I, too, go: my wound is deep,
My brethren long have died;
Yet, ere my soul grow dark with sleep,
Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!

"Bear it where, on his battle-plain,
Beneath the setting sun,
He counts my country's noble slain --
Say to him -- Saxon, think not all is won.

"Thou hast laid low the warrior's head,
The minstrel's chainless hand:
Dreamer! that numberest with the dead
The burning spirit of the mountain-land!

"Thinkst thou, because the song hath seized,
The soul of song is flown?
Thinkst thou it woke to crown the feast,
It lived beside the ruddy hearth alone?

"No! by our wrongs, and by our blood!
We leave it pure and free;
Though hushed awhile, that sounding flood
Shall roll in joy through ages yet to be.

"We leave it midst our country's woe --
The birthright of her breast;
We leave it as we leave the snow
Bright and eternal on Eryri's crest.

"We leave it with our fame to dwell
Upon our children's breath;
Our voice in theirs through time shall swell --
The bard hath gifts of prophecy from death."

He dies; but yet the mountains stand,
Yet sweeps the torrent's tide;
And this is yet Aneurin's land --
Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!





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