Harp's Mourning (A Song of Ashes)


I sang once of hope:
But of hope there was none.
I sang of brave heroes:
Where now have they run?
I sang of my lord and his lady:
Whither have gone now the fair?
I sang of the hound and the hunter:
Why sit I in gloom and despair?
I was struck by the beautiful bard who held me:
Now, why are those fingers so weak?
And golden our song in the morning:
Why the red light in night now so deep?
The fire burned cheery beside us:
Now it licks at the wood of her pyre.
The dawn-light played lazily o'er us:
Yet my song is now kindled by flame!

A day and a year might I linger
And know not what caused folk such pain
But the fire has now claimed the bard's fingers,
Now ashes are what I remain.