He had wander'd wide in his minstrel pride,
When Spring was upon his breast;
And his way was afar o'er turf and tide,
For he sought a minstrel's rest!
From the fields of his home his brows were crown'd,
A kindred's hands onwreathe'd them;
But in knightly courts my songs shall sound,
Be honour'd the hard that breath'd them,
The world shall learn to prize the name
Of them she loves in story!
So spake the voice of life's first fame,
And he went in his spirit's glory.
He had wander'd long; but there came from far,
With his tresses gray through years,
And a soul where blight had wrought its war,
An aged man in tears.
On his bending form, with chords unstrung,
A wither'd branch thrown o'er it,
The silenc'd charms of his loneness hung,
And weary was he that bore it.
His freezing hand essay'd in part;
'Twas vain - no voice was spoken!
Spent on the strings his struggling heart, --
His heart, with his harp, was broken!
First published in The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, 3 August 1830
