E'en when in age their flame expires,

Her dulcet breath can fan its fires:

Their drooping fancy wakes at praise,

And strives to trim the short-lived blaze.

Smiled then, well-pleased, the Aged Man, And thus his tale continued ran.

THE

LAY

OF

THE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO FIFTH.

THE

LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO FIFTH.

CALL it not vain :they do not err,
Who say, that, when the Poet dies,

Mute Nature mourns her worshipper,

Who

And celebrates his obsequies;

say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, For the departed bard make moan; That mountains weep in crystal rill; That flowers in tears of balm distil;