My Gentle Harp
(Thomas Moore, 1770-1852)
My gentle harp, once more I waken
The sweetness of thy slumb'ring strain
In tears our last farewell was taken
An now in tears we meet again.
Yet even then, while peace was singing,
Her halcyon song o'er land and sea,
Through joy and hope to others bringing,
She only brought new tears to thee.
Then who can ask for notes of pleasure,
My drooping harp, from chords like thine?
Alas, the lark's gay morning measure
As ill would suit the swan's decline.
Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee,
Invoke thy breath for freedom's strains,
When e'en the wreaths in which I dress thee,
Are sadly mixed, half flours (flowers?),half chains.
Maybe written in 1798, for 2 friends who died participating in the Rising of '9