Henry Louis Vivian Derozio (1809-1831)
The Harp of India
1Why hang'st thou lonely on yon withered bough?
2Unstrung for ever, must thou there remain;
3Thy music once was sweet -- who hears it now?
4Why doth the breeze sigh over thee in vain?
5Silence hath bound thee with her fatal chain;
6Neglected, mute, and desolate art thou,
7Like ruined monument on desert plain:
8O! many a hand more worthy far than mine
9Once thy harmonious chords to sweetness gave,
10And many a wreath for them did Fame entwine
11Of flowers still blooming on the minstrel's grave:
12Those hands are cold -- but if thy notes divine
13May be by mortal wakened once again,
14Harp of my country, let me strike the strain!
Online text copyright © 2009, Ian Lancashire (the Department of English) and the University of Toronto.
Published by the Web Development Group, Information Technology Services, University of Toronto Libraries.
Original text: Henry Louis Vivian Derozio, Poems (London: Oxford University Press, 1923).
RPO poem editor: Ian Lancashire
RP edition: 2001
Recent editing: 1:2002/10/4
Composition date:
1827
-
1831
Form: sonnet
Rhyme: ababbabcdcdcbb
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