106
THE LAST SONG THE BARD SUNG.
Youth has fled, and like a dart
Grief is planted in my heart—
All the joy of life is gone,
(Strengthen me, thou Secret One[1]!)
Utterly have passed away
Youthful prowess—spirit gay,
Brain, and soul, and genius—Thou
Hast, O Love, thy vengeance now!
Wrung for ever from my tongue
Is the glorious power of song
That inspired my life so long—
Ivor, my illustrious guide,
Nest my patroness—his bride,
Morvyth, idol of my breast—
All are in the dust at rest!
By a life I loathe, oppress’d,
I am left alone to bear
Time’s dread load of grief and care!
Rhymes no longer I indite,
And to woodland wilds recite—
In the groves no more I doat
On the cuckoo, and the note
- ↑ ‘The Secret One,’ a Welsh epithet for the Deity.
‘Strengthen me thou Secret One.’—Celi.
