XXVII.
“Thou art wearin’ awa’, Jean,Like snaw when it’s thaw, Jean;Thou art wearin’ awa’To the land o’ the leal.”OO THE impassable sorrow, mother mine!Of the sweet, mournful air which, clear and well,For me thou singest! Never the divineMahomedan harper, famous Israfel,Such rich enchanting luxury of woeElicited from all his golden strings!Therefore, dear singer sad! chant clear, and low,And lovingly, the bard’s imaginings,O poet unknown! conning thy verses o’erIn lone, dim places, sorrowfully sweet;And O musician! touching the quick coreOf pity, when thy skilful closes meet—My tears confess your witchery as they flow,Since I, too,wearaway like the enduring snow.
“Thou art wearin’ awa’, Jean,Like snaw when it’s thaw, Jean;Thou art wearin’ awa’To the land o’ the leal.”OO THE impassable sorrow, mother mine!Of the sweet, mournful air which, clear and well,For me thou singest! Never the divineMahomedan harper, famous Israfel,Such rich enchanting luxury of woeElicited from all his golden strings!Therefore, dear singer sad! chant clear, and low,And lovingly, the bard’s imaginings,O poet unknown! conning thy verses o’erIn lone, dim places, sorrowfully sweet;And O musician! touching the quick coreOf pity, when thy skilful closes meet—My tears confess your witchery as they flow,Since I, too,wearaway like the enduring snow.
“Thou art wearin’ awa’, Jean,Like snaw when it’s thaw, Jean;Thou art wearin’ awa’To the land o’ the leal.”
OO THE impassable sorrow, mother mine!Of the sweet, mournful air which, clear and well,For me thou singest! Never the divineMahomedan harper, famous Israfel,Such rich enchanting luxury of woeElicited from all his golden strings!Therefore, dear singer sad! chant clear, and low,And lovingly, the bard’s imaginings,O poet unknown! conning thy verses o’erIn lone, dim places, sorrowfully sweet;And O musician! touching the quick coreOf pity, when thy skilful closes meet—My tears confess your witchery as they flow,Since I, too,wearaway like the enduring snow.
O