'True love can ne'er forget;
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,
My darling one!'
Thus sung a minstrel gray
His sweet impassion'd lay,
Down by the Ocean's spray,
At set of sun.
But wither'd was the minstrel's sight,
Morn to him was dark as night,
Yet his heart was full of light,
As thus the lay begun;
'True love can ne'er forget,
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,
My darling one!'
'Long years are past and o'er
Since from this fatal shore,
Cold hearts and cold winds bore
My love from me.'
Scarcely the minstrel spoke,
When quick with flashing stroke,
A boat's light oar the silence broke,
Over the sea;
Soon upon her native strand
Doth a lovely lady land,
While the minstrel's love-taught hand
Did o'er his wild harp run;
'True love can ne'er forget
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,
My darling one!'
Where the minstrel sat alone,
There, that lady fair hath gone,
Within his hand she placed her own,
The bard dropped on his knee;
From his lips soft blessings came,
He kiss'd her hand with truest flame,
In trembling tones he named-her name
Though her he could not see;
But oh!-the touch the bard could tell
Of that dear hand, remember'd well;
Ah!-by many a secret spell
Can true love find his own!
For true love can ne'er forget;
Fondly as when they met,
He loved his lady yet,
His darling one.