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THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPTДжордж Гордон БайронАРФА ЦАРЯ-ПЕВЦА

The Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept...
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I.

⁠The Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept,[1]
⁠⁠The King of men, the loved of Heaven!
⁠Which Music hallowed while she wept
⁠⁠O'er tones her heart of hearts had given—
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven!
⁠It softened men of iron mould,
⁠⁠It gave them virtues not their own;
⁠No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
⁠⁠That felt not—fired not to the tone,
Till David's Lyre grew mightier than his Throne!

II.

⁠It told the triumphs of our King,[2]
⁠⁠It wafted glory to our God;
⁠It made our gladdened valleys ring,
⁠⁠The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode![3]
⁠Since then, though heard on earth no more,[4]
⁠⁠Devotion and her daughter Love
⁠Still bid the bursting spirit soar
⁠⁠To sounds that seem as from above,
In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.
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The Harp the Minstrel Monarch swept,
⁠The first of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music cherished while she wept.—[MS. M.]

It told the Triumph ——.—[MS. M.]
["When Lord Byron put the copy into my hand, it terminated with this line. This, however, did not complete the verse, and I asked him to help out the melody. He replied, 'Why, I have sent you to Heaven—it would be difficult to go further!' My attention for a few moments was called to some other person, and his Lordship, whom I had hardly missed, exclaimed, 'Here, Nathan, I have brought you down again;' and immediately presented me the beautiful and sublime lines which conclude the melody."—Fugitive Pieces, 1829, p. 33.]
It there abode, and there it rings,
⁠But ne'er on earth its sound shall be;
The prophets' race hath passed away;
⁠And all the hallowed minstrelsy—
From earth the sound and soul are fled,
⁠And shall we never hear again?—[MS. M. erased.]

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