 | The Harp of Erin |  |
Parent of sorrow, Melancholy
pale,
And Pity, withering in thy vestal bloom,
And musing sage, with sullen eye,
And all the rainbow vested pow'rs that ply
Th' ethereal pencil on the cloud of morn,
Languid, oppress'd, forlorn,
Forth from your dim, mysterious mansions come,
And o'er yon holy tomb,
Where the dead sparks of awful genius lie,
Pour the full tear of woe, and heave th' emphatic sigh!
They come—lo! Melancholy pale,
And Pity, with'ring in her vestal bloom,
And musing sage, with sullen eye,
And all the rainbow-vested pow'rs that ply
Th' ethereal pencil on the clouds of morn,
Lament their second Titian's doom,
And, plucking from each bud the latent thorn,
Ambrosian garlands weave, and look, and pause, and mourn.
And Pity, withering in thy vestal bloom,
And musing sage, with sullen eye,
And all the rainbow vested pow'rs that ply
Th' ethereal pencil on the cloud of morn,
Languid, oppress'd, forlorn,
Forth from your dim, mysterious mansions come,
And o'er yon holy tomb,
Where the dead sparks of awful genius lie,
Pour the full tear of woe, and heave th' emphatic sigh!
They come—lo! Melancholy pale,
And Pity, with'ring in her vestal bloom,
And musing sage, with sullen eye,
And all the rainbow-vested pow'rs that ply
Th' ethereal pencil on the clouds of morn,
Lament their second Titian's doom,
And, plucking from each bud the latent thorn,
Ambrosian garlands weave, and look, and pause, and mourn.
| The Harp of Erin | |