SHALL THE HARP THEN BE SILENT.
Shall the Harp then be silent, when he who first gave
To our country a name, is withdrawn from all eyes?
Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave,
Where the first--where the last of her Patriots lies?
No--faint tho' the death-song may fall from his lips,
Tho' his Harp, like his soul, may with shadows be crost,
Yet, yet shall it sound, mid a nation's eclipse,
And proclaim to the world what a star hath been lost;--[1]
What a union of all the affections and powers
By which life is exalted, embellished, refined,
Was embraced in that spirit--whose centre was ours,
While its mighty circumference circled mankind.
Oh, who that loves Erin, or who that can see,
Thro' the waste of her annals, that epoch sublime--
Like a pyramid raised in the desert--where he
And his glory stand out to the eyes of all time;
That _one_ lucid interval, snatched from the gloom
And the madness of ages, when filled with his soul,
A Nation o'erleaped the dark bounds of her doom,
And for _one_ sacred instant, touched Liberty's goal?
Who, that ever hath heard him--hath drank at the source
Of that wonderful eloquence, all Erin's own,
In whose high-thoughted daring, the fire, and the force,
And the yet untamed spring of her spirit are shown?
An eloquence rich, wheresoever its wave
Wandered free and triumphant, with thoughts that shone thro',
As clear as the brook's "stone of lustre," and gave,
With the flash of the gem, its solidity too.
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