 A Perfect Strain by Isabella Valancy Crawford Read for LibriVox.org by Carolin Francis O bid the minstrel tune his harp and bid the minstrel sing, And let it be a perfect strain that round the hall shall ring. A strain to throb in ladies' heart, To brim the warrior's soul, As dew fills up the summer rose, And wine the lordly bowl. O let the minstrel's voice ring clear, His touch sweep gay and light, Nor let his glittering tresses know One streak of wintry white. And let the light of Ruddy June Shine in his joyous eyes, If he would wake the only strain That never fully dies. O what the strain that woos the night To turn from steed and lance, The page to turn from hound and hawk, The maid from lute and dance, The potent strain that nigh would draw The hermit from his cave, The dryad from the leafy oak, The mermaid from the wave, That almost might still charm the hawk To drop the trembling dove. O Ruddy minstrel, tune thy harp, And sing of youthful love. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. A perfect strain by Isabella Valancy Crawford, Read for LibriVox.org by Ernst Patinama, July 28, 2008, Amsterdam, The Netherlands. O bid the minstrel tune his harp, And bid the minstrel sing, And let it be a perfect strain That round the hall shall ring. A strain to throb in lady's heart To bring the warrior's soul, As dew fills up the summer rose, And wine the lordly bowl. O let the minstrel's voice ring clear, His touch sweep gay and light, Nor let his glittering tress's snow, One streak of wintry white. And let the light of Ruddy June Shine in his joyous eyes, If he would wake the only strain That never fully dies. O what the strain that woos tonight To turn from steed and lance, The page to turn from hound and hawk, The maid from lute and dance, The potent strain That nigh would draw the hermit from his cave, The dryad from the leafy oak, The mermaid from the wave, But almost might still charm the hawk To drop the trembling dove. O Ruddy minstrel, tune thy harp, And sing of youthful love. A perfect strain, by Isabella Valenci Crawford, Read for a LibriVax.org by J. C. Guan. O bid the minstrel tune his harp, And bid the minstrel sing, And let it be a perfect strain That round the hall shall ring. A strain to throb in ladies' heart To brim the worrier soul, As dew fills up the summer rose And wine the lordly bowl. O let the minstrel's voice ring clear, His touch sweep gay and light, Nor let his glittering tress's snow, One streak of wintry white. And let the light of Ruddy June Shine in his joyous eyes, If he would wick the only strain That never fully dies. O what the strain that woos the night To turn from steed and lance, The page to turn from hound and hawk, The maid from lute and dance, The potent strain that nigh would draw The hermit from his cave, The dryad from the leafy oak, The mermaid from the wave, That almost might still charm the hawk To drop the trembling dove. O Ruddy minstrel tune thy harp, And sing of youthful love. A perfect strain by Isabella Valancy Crawford, Read for LibriVox.org by Leni. O bid the minstrel tune his harp, And bid the minstrel sing, And let it be a perfect strain That round the hall shall ring. A strain to throb in ladies' heart To brim the worrier soul, As dew fills up the summer rose And wine the lordly bowl. O let the minstrel's voice ring clear His touch to gay and light, Nor let his glittering tresses know One streak of wantry white, And let the light of Ruddy June shine In his joyous eyes, If he would wick the only strain That never fully dies. O what the strain that woos the night To turn from steed and lance, The page to turn from hound and hawk, The maid from lute and dance, The potent strain that nigh would draw The hermit from his cave, The dried from the leafy oak, The murmured maid from the wave, That almost might still charm the hawk To drop the trembling dove, O Ruddy, minstrel, tune thy harp And sing of youthful love. A perfect strain by Isabella Valancy Crawford, Read for LibriVox.org by Mindy H. O bid the minstrel tune his harp And bid the minstrel sing, And let it be a perfect strain That round the hall shall ring. A strained throb in lady's heart To brim the warrior's soul, As dew fills up the summer rose And wine the lordly bowl. O let the minstrel's voice ring clear His touch sweep gay and light, Nor let his glittering trusses know One streak of wintry white, And let the light of Ruddy June Shine in his joyous eyes If he would wick the only strain That never fully dies. O watch the strain that woos the night To turn from steed and lance, The page to turn from hound and hawk, The maid from loot and dance, The potent strain that nigh would draw The hermit from his cave, The dryad from the leafy oak, The murmured maid from the wave, That almost might still charm the hawk To drop the trembling dove. O Ruddy minstrel tune thy harp And sing of youthful love. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A perfect strain by Isabella Valancy Crawford, Read for LibriVox.org by Rachel Linton, Bristol, UK. O bid the minstrel tune his harp And bid the minstrel sing, And let it be a perfect strain That round the hall shall ring, A strain to throb in lady's heart To brim the warrior's soul, As dew fills up the summer rose And wine the lordly bowl. O let the minstrel's voice ring clear His touch sweep gay and light, Nor let his glittering tresses know One streak of wintry white, And let the light of Ruddy June shine In his joyous eyes If he would wake the only strain That never fully dies. O what the strain that woos the night To turn from steed and lance, The page to turn from hound and hawk, The maid from loot and dance, The potent strain that nigh would draw The hermit from his cave, The dryad from the leafy oak, The mermaid from the wave, That almost might still charm the hawk To drop the trembling dove, O ruddy minstrel tune thy harp And sing of youthful love. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A perfect strain by Isabella Valancy Crawford, Read for LibriVox.org by Russell Wrightson. O bid the minstrel tune his harp, And bid the minstrel sing, And let it be a perfect strain That round the hall shall ring. A strain to throb in lady's heart To brim the warrior's soul, As dew fills up the summer rose And wine the lordly bowl. O let the minstrel's voice ring clear His touch sweep gay in light, Nor let his glittering tresses know One streak of wintry white. And let the light of ruddy tune Shine in his joyous eyes If he would wake the only strain That never fully dies. O what the strain that woos the night To turn from steed and lance, The page to turn from hound and hawk, The maid from lute and dance, The potent strain that nigh would draw The hermit from his cave, The dryad from the leaf yoke, The mermaid from the wave, That almost might still charm the hawk To drop the trembling dove, O ruddy minstrel tune thy harp And sing of youthful love. A perfect strain by Isabel Valancy Crawford, Read for LibriFox.org by Secrets. O bid the minstrel tune his harp, And bid the minstrel sing, And let it be a perfect strain That round the hall shall ring. A strain to throb in lady's heart To brim the warrior's soul, As dew fills up the summer rose And wine the lordly bowl. O let the minstrel's voice ring clear His touch-sweep gay and light, Nor let his glittering dresses know One streak of wintry white. And let the light of ruddy tune Shine in his joyous eyes If he would wake the only strain That never fully dies. O what the strain that woos the night To turn from steed and lance, The page to turn from hound and hawk, The maid from loot and dance, The potent strain that nigh would draw The hermit from his cave, The dried from the leafy oak, The mermaid from the wave, That almost might still charm the hawk To drop the trembling dove. O ruddy minstrel, tune thy harp And sing of youthful love. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A perfect strain by Isabella Vancey Crawford, Read from the box.org by Varon Neil. O let the minstrel tune his harp And let the minstrel sing. And let it be a perfect strain That round the hall shall ring, A strain to throb in lady's heart To brim the warrior's soul, As dew fills up the summer rose And wine the lordly bowl. O let the minstrel's voice ring clear His touch-sweep gay and light, O let his glittering tresses know One streak of ventry write, And let the light of ruddy dune Shine in his joyous eyes If he would wake the only strain That never fully dies. O let the strain that woos night To turn from steed and lance, The page to turn from hound and hawk, The maid from loot and dance, The potent strain that nigh would draw The hermit from his cave, The draught from the leafy oak, The mermaid from the wave, That almost might still charm the hawk To drop the trembling dove. O ruddy minstrel tune thy harp And sing of youthful love.