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Rh

Offer'd its wine to human lip, It has been mine that cup to sip. I may not say with what deep dread The words of my first song were said, I may not say how much delight Has been upon my minstrel flight.— 'Tis vain, and yet my heart would say Somewhat to those who made my way A path of light, with power to kill, To check, to crush, but not the will. Thanks for the gentleness that lent My young lute such encouragement, When scorn had turn'd my heart to stone, Oh, their's be thanks and benison!

Back to the summer hill again, When first I thought upon this strain,