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Dear Harp Of My Country
Thomas Moore
Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee,
The cold chain of
Silence had hung o'er thee long.
When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee,
And gave all thy chords to light,
freedom, and song.
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness
Have waken'd thy
fondest, thy livliest thrill,
But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness,
That even 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!
Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers,
Till touch'd by some hand less
unworthy than mine.
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,
Have throbb'd at our lay,
'tis thy glory alone;
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own.
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