 | Poems |  |
“Harper, thy flowing strains impart
A thrilling rapture to my heart.”
Thus spoke the Danish Prince, “But ne'er
Is northern noble wont to hear
The harp of scald at wassail strung,
Unanswered by the minstrel's tongue.”
That harper then obeisance made,
And thus the monarch's hest obeyed.—
A thrilling rapture to my heart.”
Thus spoke the Danish Prince, “But ne'er
Is northern noble wont to hear
The harp of scald at wassail strung,
Unanswered by the minstrel's tongue.”
That harper then obeisance made,
And thus the monarch's hest obeyed.—
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