Ludwig van Beethoven — Glencoe

Oh! Tell me, Harper, wherefore flow Thy wayward notes of wail and woe Far down the desert of Glencoe Where non may list their melody? Say, harp'st thou to the mist that fly Or to the dun deer glancing by Or to the eagle, that from high Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy? No, not to these, for they have rest The mist-wreath has the mountain crest The stag his lair, the erne her nest Abode of lone security But those for whom I pour the lay Not wild wood deep, nor mountain grey Not this deep dell that shrouds from day Could screen from treach'rous cruelty The hand that mingled in the meal At midnight drew the felon steel And gave the host's kind breast to feel Meed for his hospitality The friendly heart which warm'd that hand At midnight arm'd it with a brand That bade destruction's flames expand Their red and fearful blazonry Long have my harp's best notes been gone Few are its strings, and faint their tone They can but sound in desert lone Their grey-hair'd master's misery Were each grey hair a minstrel string Each chord should imprecations fling 'Till startled Scotland loud should ring "Revenge for blood and treachery!"