Collected Poems of Henry Derozio: Preface by Manu Samriti Chander; Edited by Amardeep Singh

The Harp of India

Why hang'st thou lonely on yon withered bough? 
Unstrung for ever, must thou there remain; 
Thy music once was sweet—-who hears it now? 
Why doth the breeze sigh over thee in vain? 
Silence hath bound thee with her fatal chain; 
Neglected, mute, and desolate art thou, 
Like ruined monument on desert plain: 
O! many a hand more worthy far than mine 
Once thy harmonious chords to sweetness gave, 
And many a wreath for them did Fame entwine 
Of flowers still blooming on the minstrel's grave: 
Those hands are cold—but if thy notes divine 
May be by mortal wakened once again, 
Harp of my country, let me strike the strain! 

March, 1827.

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