Oh let it be where the waters are meeting, <br />In one crystal sheet, like the summer's sky bright! <br />Oh let it be where the sun, when retreating, <br />May throw the last glance of his vanishing light, <br />Lay me there! lay me there! and upon my lone pillow, <br />Let the emerald moss in soft starry wreaths swell; <br />Be my dirge the faint sob of the murmuring billow, <br />And the burthen it sings to me, nought but 'farewell!' <br />Oh let it be where soft slumber enticing, <br />The cypress and myrtle have mingled their shade; <br />Oh let it be where the moon at her rising, <br />May throw the first night-glance that silvers the glade. <br />Lay me there! lay me there! and upon the green willow <br />Hang the harp that has cheered the lone minstrel so well, <br />That the soft breath of heaven, as it sighs o'er my pillow, <br />From its strings, now forsaken, may sound one farewell.<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-minstrel-s-grave/
