Harp of the North Farewell!

 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, 
And herd-boy’s evening pipe, and hum of housing bee.
 

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp! 
Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway, 
And little reck I of the censure sharp 
May idly cavil at an idle lay.
 
Much have I owed thy strains on life’s long way, 
Through secret woes the world has never known, 
When on the weary night dawned wearier day, 
And bitterer was the grief devoured alone.
— 
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, ’tis silent all!—Enchantress, fare thee well!

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