FRAGMENT XI.
THE SPANISH GUITAR.
“E'l cantar che n'elle anima si sente.”
I
Neglected long, and wrapt in idle slumber,
Forlorn, obscure, this hapless thing I found;
Thy chords relax'd, and ev'ry tuneful number
Latent and still with thy sweet soul of sound.
II
Not always thus didst thou abandon'd languish;
The matin hymn, the midnight serenade,
The lover's wish, the rival's jealous anguish,
Claim'd from thy tones, and found no trivial aid.
III
Of vanquish'd Moor, of Saracen subdued,
Of Roncevalle's immortal feats thou'st rung,
And oft beneath the grated casement woo'd
Her, whose bright charms thy tender master sung.
IV
And who was he, by adverse fortune driven
Far from his native land (sad youth!) to stray,
By all abandon'd but by thee and Heaven,
Of all bereft but thy care-soothing lay?
V
Who ceaseless breath'd to thee his song of woe,
And haply o'er thy chords inanguish'd hung,
As still thy chords in sympathy would flow,
And sadder breath'd each woe he sadly sung.
VI
Whose e'er thou wert, at least I owe thee much,
Kind little soother of each weary hour;
Obedient ever to the faintest touch
That call'd to sympathy thy passive pow'r.
VII
For when the star of eve unveil'd her light,
To bathe its glories in some lucid stream,
Or twilight hung upon the day's swift flight,
I've woo'd thy tones to aid my vision'd dream.
VIII
Or when the roving moon-beam seem'd to gather
From every shutting rose its pendent dew,
And heartless joys with flaunting sun-beam wither,
Softly I hum'd my pensive song to you.
IX
And found thee erst responsive to my soul,
Thy fainting tones each faint breath'd note return'd,
With every sigh thy sighing accents stole,
With pathos trembled, or in sadness mourn'd.
X
As true vibrative to the frolic lay,
To ev'ry careless touch of laughing pleasure,
As wildly playful, and as simply gay,
As madly jocund was thy sportive measure.
XI
Oh then to Nature's touch be sacred still!
To her I consecrate thy soothing pow'r;
Let passion, fancy, feeling, wake the thrill
That gives to bliss each visionary hour.
