Some tale of glory seems to tell,
Soon the proud notes of triumph die,
Lost in a dirge’s harmony.
Oh! many a pang the heart hath proved,
Hath deeply suffer’d, fondly loved,
Ere the sad strain could catch from thence
Such deep impassion’d eloquence!
Yes! gaze on him, that minstrel boy—
He is no child of hope and joy!
Though few his years, yet have they been