Poems (Welby)/The Neglected Harp

by Amelia Welby

THE NEGLECTED HARP.

O! why art thou left, thou lone harp, here,
 With none to awake thy slumbers,
Save the minstrel wind as it lingers near
 To call forth thy plaintive numbers!

O sadly sweet is the wild, wild strain,
 That over thy light chords lingers;
For ne'er will those light chords breathe again
 To the touch of a mortal's fingers.

The hand, that once caused thy chords to thrill,
 A lovelier harp may awaken,
But the spirit of music will haunt thee still,
 Although by that hand forsaken.

And she, who around thee roses flung,
 May wreathe them in brighter bowers;
Yet sweetness around thy chords hath clung,
 And perfume around thy flowers.

I pity thee for each altered tone,
 That once gushed forth in gladness,

For now, like a charmless thing, thou 'rt thrown
 To breathe out those tones in sadness.

I pity thee for each music-sigh,
 Lost on the winds of heaven,
For the wasted flow of thy melody,
 To the wandering zephyrs given.

Ah! thus it is with fond woman's heart,
 When love comes o'er it stealing;
To each thrilling touch its chords impart
 The music of every feeling.

Sorrow may o'er her spirit come,
 Her brightest dreams dispelling,
Yet still, like a flower, her heart will bloom
 If love in its depths is swelling.

And e'en should the spell, round her warm heart wove,
 Be broke by the being that bound it,
Still memory will sweep o'er its chords of love,
 And sweetness will linger around it.

I mourn, thou harp, for no touch may bring
 Back thy sweet tones departed,
Yet more do I mourn, thou wailing thing,
 O'er the lost and the broken-hearted.