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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.
- ↑ * At the time of the supposed massacre of the Welsh bards by Edward the First.
