He once for glory sung, but now for hire!
And, while he sings, they vanish from his sight,
The knights, the ladies gay, the very room!
Once more a youth, with eyes and prospects bright,
He sings to her, now mould’ring in the tomb,
Ere Age and Poverty’s overwhelming blight
From Life’s first blushing flowers had robbed the bloom.
Sweet season, long expected, quickly past,
In youth Love’s fire too fiercely burns to last!
The minstrel’s song was no sooner done,