I WILL hang thee, my Harp, by the side of the fountain, On the whispering branch of the lone-waving willow: Above thee shall rush the hoarse gale of the mountain, Below thee shall tumble the dark breaking billow. The winds shall blow by thee, abandon'd, forsaken, The wild gales alone shall arouse thy sad strain; For where is the heart or the hand to awaken The sounds of thy soul-soothing sweetness again? Oh! Harp of my fathers! Thy chords shall decay, One by one with the strings Shall thy notes fade away; Till the fiercest of tempests Around thee may yell, And not waken one sound Of thy desolate shell! Yet, oh! yet, ere I go, will I fling a wreath round thee, With the richest of flowers in the green valley springing; Those that see shall remember the hand that hath crown'd thee, When, wither'd and dead, to thee still they are clinging. There! now I have wreath'd thee -- the roses are twining Thy chords with their bright blossoms glowing and red: Though the lapse of one day see their freshness declining, Yet bloom for one day when thy minstrel has fled! Oh! Harp of my fathers! No more in the hall, The souls of the chieftains Thy strains shall enthral: One sweep will I give thee, And wake thy bold swell; Then, thou friend of my bosom, For ever farewell! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTTO TO THE SONGS OF INNOCENCE & OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE ANGEL, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE ACCOUNTABILITY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR LONDON WIND by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA MALIGNED MORTALITY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET PSALM 86 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |