My gentle Harp, once more I waken <br />The sweetness of thy slumbering strain; <br />In tears our last farewell was taken, <br />And now in tears we meet again. <br />No light of joy hath o'er thee broken, <br />But, like those harps whose heavenly skill <br />Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken, <br />Thou hang'st upon the willows still. <br /> <br />And yet, since last thy chord resounded, <br />An hour of peace and triumph came, <br />And many an ardent bosom bounded <br />With hopes - that now are turn'd to shame. <br />Yet even then, while Peace was singing <br />Her halcyon song o'er land and sea, <br />Though joy and hope to others bringing, <br />She only brought new tears to thee. <br /> <br />Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure, <br />My drooping Harp, from chords like thine? <br />Alas, the lark's gay morning measure <br />As ill would suit the swan's decline! <br />Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee, <br />Invoke thy breath for Freedom's strains, <br />When even the wreaths in which I dress thee <br />Are sadly mix'd - half flowers, half chains? <br /> <br />But come - if yet thy frame can borrow <br />One breath of joy, oh, breathe for me, <br />And show the world, in chains and sorrow, <br />How sweet thy music still can be; <br />How gaily, even 'mid gloom surrounding, <br />Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrill - <br />Like Memnon's broken image sounding, <br />'Mid desolation tunefull still!<br /><br />Thomas Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-gentle-harp-2/
