(David of the White Rock)
David the Bard on his bed of death
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
Let it once more add its voice to my song;
Though my old fingers are palsied and weak,
Still my dear harp for its master will speak.
Often the hearts of our chiefs it
When its loud summons to battle was heard;
Harp of my country, dear harp of the brave,
Let thy last notes hover over my grave.