The Lay of the Last Minstrel # 27428

The Lay of the Last Minstrel, A Poem by Walter Scott, Esq. The sixt edition.



The way was long, the wind was cold,

The Minstrel was infirm and old;

His wither\'d cheek, and tresses gray,

Seem\'d to have known a better day;

The harp, his sole remaining joy,

Was carried by an orphan boy.

The last of all the Bards was he,

Who sung of Border chivalry;

For, welladay! their date was fled,

His tuneful brethren all were dead;

And he, neglected and oppress\'d,

Wish\'d to be with them, and at rest.

No more on prancing palfrey borne,

He caroll\'d, light as lark at morn;

No longer courted and caress\'d,

High placed in hall, a welcome guest,

He pour\'d, to lord and lady gay,

The unpremeditated lay:

Old times were changed, old manners gone;

A stranger filled the Stuarts\' throne;

The bigots of the iron time

Had call\'d hs harmless art a crime.

A wandering Harper, scorn\'d and poor,

He begg\'d his bread from door to door.

And timed, to please a peasant\'s ear,

The harp, a king had loved to hear.


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