The Minstrel Boy

The Minstrel Boy to the glen is gone,
In its deepest dells you'll find him,
Where echoes sing to his music's tone,
And fairies listen behind him.

He sings of nature all in her prime,
Of sweets that around him hover,
Of mountain heath and moorland thyme,
And trifles that tell the lover.

How wildly sweet is the minstrel's lay,
Through cliffs and wild woods ringing,
For, ah ! there is love to beacon his way,
And hope in the song he's singing !
The bard may indite, and the minstrel sing,
And maidens may chorus it rarely ;
But unless there be love in the heart within,
The ditty will charm but sparely.