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The harp the monarch minstrel swept

Language: English

The harp the monarch minstrel swept,
   The King of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music hallow'd while she wept
   O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,
   Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven!
It soften'd men of iron mould,
   It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
   That felt not, fired not to the tone,
   Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne!

It told the triumphs of our King,
   It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladden'd valleys ring,
   The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
   Its sound aspired to heaven and there abode!
Since then, though heard on earth no more,
  Devotion and her daughter Love
Still bid the bursting spirit soar
   To sounds that seem as from above,
   In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.


Translation(s): FRE GER GER

List of language codes

Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Authorship


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:

Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):


Text added to the website: 2004-05-08.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:02:06
Line count: 20
Word count: 141

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Hélas! qu'est devenue la harpe du royal ménestrel

Language: French (Français) after the English

Hélas! qu'est devenue la harpe du royal ménestrel,
la harpe du souverain des hommes, du bien-aimé du ciel,
la harpe que la mélodie sacrée sanctifia par de plaintifs accens,
nés du cœur--et du cœur le plus tendre!
O Mélodie, redouble tes larmes: ces cordes magiques sont brisées.
Naguères cette harpe adoucit les hommes aux entrailles de fer,
elle leur donna les vertus qu'ils n'avaient pas.
Quelle oreille fut assez sourde, quelle ame assez froide
pour ne pas se réveiller, pour ne pas s'embraser au son de cette lyre,
qui, bien plus que le trône, fit la puissance de David?

Cette harpe chanta les triomphes de notre roi;
elle glorifia notre Dieu;
elle éveilla les joyeux échos des vallées,
força les cèdres à se courber de respect, les montagnes à tressaillir d'allégresse;
elle aspira au ciel et y laissa, enfin, ses accords
que depuis lors on n'entend plus ici-bas.
Mais toujours la piété, mère d'un saint enthousiasme,
élève l'essor de notre ame jusques à ces chants
qui nous semblent venir de la voûte céleste dans des songes ravissans,
que la resplendissante lumière du jour ne saurait interrompre.


Submitted by Guy Laffaille [Guest Editor]

Authorship


Based on

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

    [ None yet in the database ]


Text added to the website: 2012-01-15.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:04:45
Line count: 20
Word count: 186