I. <br />Dinas Emlinn, lament; for the moment is nigh, <br />When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die: <br />No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave, <br />And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave. <br /> <br />II. <br />In spring and in autumn thy glories of shade <br />Unhonour'd shall flourish, unhonour'd shall fade; <br />For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue, <br />That view'd them with rapture, with rapture that sung. <br /> <br />III. <br />Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, <br />And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side; <br />But where is the harp shall give life to their name? <br />And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame? <br /> <br />IV. <br />And oh, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair, <br />Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair; <br />What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye, <br />When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die? <br /> <br />V. <br />Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit thy loved scene, <br />To join the dim choir of the bards who have been; <br />With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, <br />And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. <br /> <br />VI. <br />And Adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still green be thy shades, <br />Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy maids! <br />And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell, <br />Farewell, my loved Harp! my last treasure, farewell!<br /><br />Sir Walter Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dying-bard/
