The Harp of India
Henry Louis Vivian Derozio, Poems (London: Oxford University Press, 1923).
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!
RPO poem Editors: