XXIX. Full well the conscious maiden guessed I know his heart, I know his hand, To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live! - Hast paid our care by treacherous wile, HARP of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark, And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp! May idly cavil at an idle lay. Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, 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 ring Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell; And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring A wandering witch-note of the distant spell And now, 't is silent all! - Enchantress, fare thee well! |