Poetry > Lady of the lake

23
THE
LADY OF THE LAKE.
CANTO FIRST.
Clje CljaSc.
Harp of the North ! that mouldering long hast hung
On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan’s spring,
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung,1
Till envious ivy did around thee cling,
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string,—
0 minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep ?
Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring,
Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep,
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep ?
Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon,
Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd,
1 [MiS.—“ And on the fitful breeze thy numbers flung,
Till envious ivy, with her verdant ring,
Mantled and muffled each melodious string,—
O Wizard Harp, still must thine accents sleep i"