The harp the monarch minstrel swept, <br />The King of men, the loved of Heaven, <br />Which Music hallow'd while she wept <br />O'er tones her heart of hearts had given, <br />Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven! <br />It soften'd men of iron mould, <br />It gave them virtues not their own; <br />No ear so dull, no soul so cold, <br />That felt not, fired not to the tone, <br />Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne! <br /> <br />It told the triumphs of our King, <br />It wafted glory to our God; <br />It made our gladden'd valleys ring, <br />The cedars bow, the mountains nod; <br />Its sound aspired to heaven and there abode! <br />Since then, though heard on earth no more, <br />Devotion and her daughter Love <br />Still bid the bursting spirit soar <br />To sounds that seem as from above, <br />In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-harp-the-monarch-minstrel-swept/
