hen the light of my song is o'er,
Then take my harp to your ancient hall;
Hang it up at the friendly door,
Where weary travellers love to call.
Then if some bard, who roams forsaken,
Revive its soft note in passing along,
Oh! let one thought of its master waken
Your warmest smile for the child of song.
hen the light of my song is o'er,
