Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/187

Rh 77.

What minstrel grey, what hoary bard,

Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise?

The song is glory's chief reward,

But who can strike a murd'rer's praise?

78.

Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand,

No minstrel dare the theme awake;

Guilt would benumb his palsied hand,

His harp in shuddering chords would break.

79.

No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse,

Shall sound his glories high in air:

A dying father's bitter curse,

A brother's death-groan echoes there.

TRANSLATION FROM ANACREON.

to tune my quivering lyre,

To deeds of fame, and notes of fire;