And holiest music, on the charmed air crept,
Waked from the magic strings, Where till that hour they slept.
O! how that wild strain o’er the river swelled,
And mingled with its gentle murmuring,
From the true fount of Song divine, it welled;
Music’s own simple undefiled spring;
Notes rose, and dyed such as the wild birds sing
In the lone-wood, or the far lonelier sky.
O! none but Blondel but the minstrel king
Could waken such transcendant melody;