And how, full many a tale he knew, Of the old warriors of Buccleuch ; And, would the noble Duchess deign Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, He could make music to her ear. The humble boon was soon obtained; The Aged Minstrel audience gained. And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, The pitying Duchess praised its chime, And gave him heart, and gave him time, Till every string's according glee Was blended into harmony. And then, he said, he would full fain It was not framed for village churles, But for high dames and mighty earls; He had played it to King Charles the Good, When he kept court in Holyrood; And much he wished, yet feared, to try The long-forgotten melody. Amid the strings his fingers strayed, And an uncertain warbling made, And oft he shook his hoary head. The old man raised his face and smiled; And lightened up his faded eye, In varying cadence, soft or strong, He swept the sounding chords along : The present scene, the future lot, His toils, his wants, were all forgot: In the full tide of song were lost; 'T was thus the LATEST MINSTREL sung. |