Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 :: :: University of Virginia Library

Weep! for the word is spoken,
Mourn for the knell hath knolled;
The master chord is broken,
And the master hand is cold.
Romance hath lost her minstrel,
No more his magic strain
Shall throw a sweeter spell around
The legends of Almaine.

His fame had flown before him
To many a foreign land,
His lays were sung by every tongue
And harped by every hand.
He came to seek fresh laurels,
But Fate was in their breath,
And turned his march of triumph
Into a dirge of death.

111

Oh, all who knew him loved him,
For, with his mighty mind,
He bore himself so meekly,
His heart it was so kind.
His wildly warbling melodies,
The storms that round them roll,
Are types of the simplicity
And grandeur of his soul.

Though years of ceaseless suffering
Had worn him to a shade,
So patient was his spirit,
No wayward plaint he made.
E'en Death himself seemed loth to leave
His victim, pure and mild,
And stole upon him gently,
As slumber o'er a child.
Weep! for the word is spoken,
Mourn for the knell hath knolled!
The master chord is broken,
And the master hand is cold.

Set to Music by Braham, and sung at the Benefit for the Widow.