David Of The White Rock

David the bard on his bed of death lies
Pale are his features and dim are his eyes
Yet all around him his glance wildly roves,
Till it alights on the harp that he loves.

Give me my harp, my companion so long
Let it once more add it's voice to my song
Though my old fingers are palsied and weak
Still my good harp for it's master will speak.