The Knickerbocker/Volume 13/Number 5/Scott
New-York, October, 1838.
SCOTT.
Harp of the North! who shall disturb thy slumbers? The hand that tuned thee first, is cold and chill;The heart that beat responsive to thy numbers, The voice that sang to thee, for aye are still!No more beneath the poet's touch of fire, Thy rich and flowing cadences shall swell;No stranger bard shall wake the sacred lyre, Which knew the great Magician’s mighty spell.Thou hangest sadly on the drooping willow, That bends its long dark tresses o'er his tomb;And, till his head shall leave its grassy pillow, Silent, thou art content to share his doom.But when the night-wind, on its gloomy wings, Passeth the lonely walls of Dryburgh by,A plaintive music gushes from thy strings, Soft and melodious as an angel's sigh;And at the sound the gentle spirit weeps,Who guards the spot where the Last Minstrel sleeps!
W. Vaughan.