Thus the Bards
Enthroned among the dark-green pines
By no one seen, the linnet sings;
Enthroned among the lone, dark pines
The linnet’s voice now clearly rings;
He cares not who may hear his songs;
He cares not though they be not heard.
He sings of loves, and joys, and wrongs,
He sings for self, the happy bird.
The shepherd on the lonely hills,
At eventide pours forth his strains;
He pipes of meads, and flocks, and rills
And hamlets on the flowery plains;
He dreams not, that deep in the vale,
The toilers pause to hear his voice,
He dreams not that his sweet notes sail
Far off, to make sad hearts rejoice.
Oh, thus the bards in their charmed cells,
Think of their lyres and not of men;
Oh, thus the bards in their hidden cells
Forget the workers in life’s glen;
They sing their songs to please themselves.
And not to please the Realms' dull ear;
They sing their songs to soothe their souls,
Not dreaming of the listeners near.
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Subject: Re: Songs and Tales of a Wandering Bard 