 | Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems |  |
SONG OF THE POET TO HIS HARP.
Farewell, harp! Oh! fare thee well!
Thou shalt hang upon the willow!
Though thou hast been like the shell
In its sea-tones o'er the billow—
Fare thee well!
Thou hast soothed me o'er the mountains,
Thou hast saved me by the sea;
Thou hast filled me when the fountains
All were dry—fare well to thee!
Thou shalt hang upon the willow!
Though thou hast been like the shell
In its sea-tones o'er the billow—
Fare thee well!
Thou hast soothed me o'er the mountains,
Thou hast saved me by the sea;
Thou hast filled me when the fountains
All were dry—fare well to thee!
Farewell, harp! Oh! fare thee well!
Thou hast been my solace ever;
And thy dear kind notes shall dwell
In my bosom's home forever—
Fare thee well.
Thou hast taught my soul in sorrow
To resolve its woes in thee,
That my hopes might be to-morrow
Brighter still—fare well to thee!
Thou hast been my solace ever;
And thy dear kind notes shall dwell
In my bosom's home forever—
Fare thee well.
107
To resolve its woes in thee,
That my hopes might be to-morrow
Brighter still—fare well to thee!
Farewell, harp! Oh! fare thee well!
Now thy silver chords are broken!
Though my soul doth love thee well,
All my vows are quickly spoken—
Fare thee well!
Thou hast made me smile in sadness,
And my hopes have been to be
In thy name redeemed to gladness,
As in youth—fare well to thee!
Now thy silver chords are broken!
Though my soul doth love thee well,
All my vows are quickly spoken—
Fare thee well!
Thou hast made me smile in sadness,
And my hopes have been to be
In thy name redeemed to gladness,
As in youth—fare well to thee!
Farewell, harp! Oh! fare thee well!
Years are gone since thou wert keeping
All my dark locks damp to tell
Why my soul was doomed to weeping—
Fare thee well!
Now thy sea-born tones are dying
On my heart-strings doomed to be
As yon sea-bird sick with flying
From its shore—fare well to thee!
Years are gone since thou wert keeping
All my dark locks damp to tell
Why my soul was doomed to weeping—
Fare thee well!
Now thy sea-born tones are dying
On my heart-strings doomed to be
As yon sea-bird sick with flying
From its shore—fare well to thee!
| Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems | |