Poems (Cook)/Hang up his Harp; he'll Wake no More!
HANG UP HIS HARP; HE'LL WAKE NO MORE!
His young bride stood beside his bed, Her weeping watch to keep;Hush! hush! he stirr'd not-was he dead, Or did he only sleep?
His brow was calm, no change was there, No sigh had fill'd his breath;Oh! did he wear that smile so fair In slumber, or in death?
"Reach down his harp," she wildly cried, "And if one spark remain,Let him but hear Loch Erroch's side; He'll kindle at the strain.
"That tune e'er held his soul in thrall, It never breathed in vain;He'll waken as its echoes fall, Or never wake again."
The strings were swept; 'twas sad to hear Sweet music floating there;For every note call'd forth a tear Of anguish and despair.
"See! see!" she cried, "the tune is o'er; No opening eye, no breath:Hang up his harp; he'll wake no more; He sleeps the sleep of death."