My gentle harp, once more I waken
The sweetness of thy slumb'ring strain
tears our last farewell was taken
And nos in tears we meet again.
Yet even then, while peace was singing,
song o'er land and sea,
Though joy and hope to others bringing,
She only brought new tears to thee.
can ask for notes of pleasure,
My drooping harp, from chords like thine?
Alas, the lark's gay morning measure
ill would suit the swan's decline.
Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee,
Invoke thy breath for freedom's strains,
e'en the wreaths in which I dress thee,
Are sadly mixed, half flours, half chains.