And sought, amid thy faithful clan, HARP 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, Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp! Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, Through secret woes the world has never known, When on the weary night dawn'd wearier canto VI day, And bitterer was the grief devour'd alone. That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress! is thine own. The Guard room Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, |