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.

I.

CALL it not vain :-they do not err,

Who say, that, when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies;

Who 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;