The Broken Violin.
Come, my poor dog, and eat thy fill ;1
Eat thou, in spite of my despair.2
One festive cake I here have still ;3
Black bread must be our morrow’s fare.4
Victors by guile, thus yesterday5
Invading soldiers to me spoke—6
“ Strike up a dance !” I would not play,7
And one of them my violin broke.8
Ah, ’twas the village orchestra !9
No sports henceforth, no joyous strain !10
Who now to dance in shade will play ?11
Who will awake the loves again ?12
When morn arose in smiling pride,13
My violin’s strings, so briskly prest,14
Were wont to tell to youthful bride15
The coming of the spousal guest.16
When curates even would stand by,17
Its music made our dances please ;18
The mirth that from its strings would fly,19
Might to king’s brow have given ease.20
When in our glory’s day it rung21
To notes that glory had inspired,22
Ne’er dreamt I it could be unstrung23
By stranger hand, with vengeance fired !24
Come, my poor dog, and eat thy fill ;25
Eat thou, in spite of my despair.26
One festive cake I here have still ;27
Black bread must be our morrow’s fare.28
Beneath the elm, or in the barn,29
Now will the holiday seem long !30
Can vintage-field or harvest corn31
Be bless’d without an opening song ?32
My violin cheer’d the toilsome hours,33
It charm’d away the poor man’s ills ;34
Taxes, and storms, and great men’s powers,35
Through it fell harmless on our hills.36
Feelings of hate it set to sleep,37
It bade the tear-drop cease to flow;38
Ah, ne’er did regal sceptre keep39
So sweet a sway as my poor bow !40
But these our foes must fly the land,41
And they have fired me for the fray42
A musket now must in my hand43
Replace what they have dash’d away.44
And should I perish, then, perchance,45
Some kindly friend will one day cry,46
“ He will’d not that a foe should dance47
Above our graves in mockery !”48
Come, my poor dog, and eat thy fill ;49
Eat thou, in spite of my despair.50
One festive cake I here have still ;51
Black bread must be our morrow’s fare.52