National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Dying Bard's Prophecy
THE DYING BARD'S PROPHECY.*[1]
"All is not lost—the unconquerable will
And courage never to submit or yield."
Milton.
The Hall of Harps is lone to-night.
And cold the chieftain's hearth;
It hath no mead, it hath no light,
No voice of melody, no sound of mirth.
The bow lies broken on the floor
Whence the free step is gone;
The pilgrim turns him from the door
Where minstrel-blood hath stain'd the threshold stone.
And I too go—my wound is deep,
My brethren long have died—
Yet ere my soul grow dark with sleep,
Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!
Bear it, where on his battle plain,
Beneath the setting sun,
He counts my country's noble slain—
Say to him—Saxon! think not all is won.
Thou hast laid low the warrior's head,
The minstrel's chainless hand;
—Dreamer! that number'st with the dead,
The burning spirit of the mountain land!
Think'st thou because the song hath ceas'd,
The soul of song is flown?
Think'st thou it woke to crown the feast,
It liv'd beside the ruddy hearth alone?
No! by our wrongs, and by our blood,
We leave it pure and free—
Though hush'd awhile, that sounding flood
Shall roll in joy through ages yet to be.
We leave it midst our country's woe,
The birth-right of her breast—
We leave it as we leave the snow
Bright and eternal on *[2]Eryri's crest.
We leave it with our fame to dwell
Upon our children's breath.
Our voice in theirs thro' time shall swell—
The Bard hath gifts of prophecy from death.
He dies—but yet the mountains stand,
Yet sweeps the torrent's tide;
And this is yet †[3]Aneurin's land—
Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!