This harp was all my father gave To me, before he found a grave Upon a stranger's land. "My boy," he said, "the harp you hold Was struck by many ministrels old, By many heroes brave and bold, With an unfaltering hand. "Your sires, the chieftains of Odrone, Familiar were with every tone Of wassail, love and fray. Some of its strings are wrought of gold, And some of silver's purest mould, And some of iron hard and cold, And some are torn away. "If virtue high you wish to sing Then fearless strike the golden string, By that it oft was stirr'd; And if with love your bosom swell The silver chord will answer well, And strains of deeper fervor tell Than ever maiden heard. "But if of freedom's fight your song, Then strike the iron loud and long, Thus oft 'twas heard before. The broken strings, once fair and bright, Are like to those who fell in fight, When battling for a country's right Their strength could not restore." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 21. TO CYRIACK SKINNER by JOHN MILTON THE MOTHERLAND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE BUILDERS OF THE ARK by MARIA ABDY THE PEN by GHALIB IBN RIBAH AL-HAJJAM PAX BRITANNICA by ALFRED AUSTIN LOVE'S NEW PHILOSOPHY by PHILIP AYRES SONNET FROM JAPAN: 2. THE SHRINE OF THE PILGRIM SANDALS by ADELAIDE NICHOLS BAKER TO BARON DE STONNE WITH AIKIN'S ESSAYS ON SONG-WRITING by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |