I was a wild and wayward boy,
My childhood scorned each childish toy;
Retired from all, reserved and coy,
To musing prone,
I wooed my solitary joy,
My harp alone.
 
My youth, with bold Ambition's mood,
Despised the humble stream and wood
Where my poor father's cottage stood,
To fame unknown;--
What should my soaring views make good?
My harp alone.
 
Love came with all his frantic fire,
And wild romance of vain desire;
The Baron's daughter heard my lyre,
And praised the tone;--
What could presumptuous hope inspire?
My harp alone.
 
At Manhood's touch the bubble burst,
And Manhood's pride the vision curst,
And all that had my folly nursed
Love's sway to own;
Yet spared the spell that lulled me first,
My harp alone.
 
Woe came with war, and want with woe;
And it was mine to undergo
Each outrage of the rebel foe:--
Can aught atone
My fields made waste, my cot laid low?
My harp alone!
 
Ambition's dreams I've seen depart,
Have rued of penury the smart,
Have felt of love the venom'd dart
When hope was flown;
Yet rests one solace to my heart,--
My harp alone!
 
Then over mountain, moor, and hill,
My faithful harp, I'll bear thee still;
And when this life of want and ill
Is well night gone,
Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill,
My harp alone!