Sweet are the twilight's amber rays, That on the Northern mountain die: And sweet the blackbird's soothing lays That hail those fading tints on high; But sweeter far his ardent strain, Who wakes the "Mountain Harp again," And pours in varied course along The tide of high romantic song.
Though dear the pensive dreams that fill My heart, when at the close of day, I watched along the northern hill, Fair twilight's last departing ray— I feel with more supreme delight, That when to them I bid good night; When time has spoilt this forest gay, When ages shall have passed away, His song shall triumph o'er decay.
How many a Bard will on thy page, O, SCOTT! the raptur'd tear bestow; How many a lovelorn heart assuage Its own, in tracing others woe— How many a lonely hour he cheered; How many a fairy vision reared, When ages shall have passed away, And base detraction met decay.
