179 

 THE MINSTREL'S FAREWELL. 



THE last, last tone hath died, 

 O ! bid it wake once more ; 

 Bid the glad harp again the swelling tide 



Of stately music pour. 



For sink we now beneath the saddening spell 

 Of our loved Minstrel's song that bade farewell. 



We marked his kindling eye, 



And there a holy fire 

 Shone as a day-beam, from that light on high 



Which angels doth inspire ; 



And his cheek flushed, as his proud song flowed free, 

 Like to the billows of a waking sea. 



And firmer grew his hand, 

 More passionate his lay, 

 He bade his guardian angels bless his land, 



So dear so far away ; 

 Until we caught the fervour of his tone, 

 And our hearts' prayer made answer to his own. 



Then came a softer strain 



To fill the eye with tears, 

 And the soul's inner depths with mournful pain, 



To linger there for years : 



While breathless tremblings made the bosom thrill, 

 Lest his last music should too soon be still. 



For we had loved him well, 



Through many a changing day ; 

 He was not with us as an ocean shell, 



Cast up then swept away : 

 But from a band of brotherhood he bore 

 Song, step, and smile to bring them back no more. 



And time had hastened by, 



Strengthening the links which bound us ; 

 And his bright spirit in the hour of joy, 



Had evermore been round us : 

 Nor knew we, till that parting music died, 

 How sad a change must come how dear a void ! 



Not sad for him his tears 



In the south land shall fail ; 

 Where the tall cliff its vine-clad steep uprears 



Above a peaceful vale : 



There shall he meet his kindred there shall tell 

 Of friends in distant isle who loved him well. 



But eve the bird is flown 



That cheered us with its lay 

 Eve hath come down to dim our hour of noon, 



Our loved one passed away : 

 And we must grieve, as oft remembered rise 

 The speaking music of his melodies. 



N 2 



