Dear harp of my country,
in darkness I found thee.
The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long.
When so proudly my own island harp I unbound thee
and gave all thy chords to light,
freedom,
and song.
The warm lay of love and a light stone of gladness
have wakened thy fondest, thy
liveliest thrill.
But so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness
seen in thy mirth, it
will steal from thee still.
Dear harp of my country, farewell
to thy numbers.
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine.
Oh,
sleep with the sunshine of fame on thy slumbers,
still touched by some handless,
unworthy than mine.
If the pulse of a patriot, soldier, or lover
have throbbed at our lay, tis thy glory alone.
But as the wind
passing heedlessly over,
and all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own.