Farewell To My Harp - Poem by Thomas Cowherd
Farewell my rude Harp and my still ruder Lyre!
For season your tones may not fall on my ear;
At the bench will hard labor repress rhyming fire,
And Fact over Fancy triumphant appear.
Yet I will remember the exquisite pleasure
For full thirty years freely rendered by you;
How oft in that time you have proved a rich treasure-
Still constant abiding and evermore true.
Again and again bring afresh to my mind.
How in youth your wild minstrelsy ravished my soul
Till I became daily to musings inclined,
And strong, gushing impulse that scarce brooked control.
I oft will recall how you chased away sadness,
As sore family tumbles my heart did affright
When a fond, faithful partner, whose presence was gladness
Was reft from my side-turning day into night!
Nor forget soon the dirges you poured o'er the tomb
Enclosing both her and our infant so dear;
Whose soul-stirring notes dissipated my gloom,
And since have refreshed me through many a year.
Ah, no! those sweet memories, fresh in me springing,
Shall nerve to new efforts in God's holy cause;
And hearing within me your melodies ringing,
I'll steadfastly aim at observing His Laws.
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