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  • Artist Info: The Bard<br />
    <br />
    My friends, can you descry that mound of earth<br />
    Above clear waters in the shade of trees?<br />
    You can just hear the babbling spring against the bank;<br />
    You can just feel a breeze that's wafting in the leaves;<br />
    A wreath and lyre hang upon the boughs...<br />
    Alas, my friends! This mound'ss a grave;<br />
    Here earth conceals the ashes of a bard;<br />
    Poor bard!<br />
    <br />
    A gentle soul, a simple heart<br />
    He was a sojourner in the world;<br />
    He'd barely bloomed, yet lost his taste for life<br />
    He craved his end with yearning and excitement;<br />
    And early on he met his end,<br />
    He found the grave's desired sleep.<br />
    Your time was but a moment - a moment sad<br />
    Poor bard!<br />
    <br />
    He sang with tenderness of friendship to his friend, -<br />
    His loyal friend cut down in his life's bloom;<br />
    He sang of love - but in a doleful voice;<br />
    Alas! Of love he knew naught but its woe;<br />
    Now all has met with its demise,<br />
    Your soul partakes of peace eternal;<br />
    You slumber in your silent grave,<br />
    Poor bard!<br />
    <br />
    Here, by this stream one eventide<br />
    He sang his doleful farewell song:<br />
    "O lovely world, where blossomed I in vain;<br />
    Farewell forever; with a soul deceived<br />
    For happiness I waited - but my dreams have died;<br />
    All's perished; lyre, be still;<br />
    To your serene abode, o haste,<br />
    Poor bard!<br />
    <br />
    What's life, when charm is lacking?<br />
    To know of bliss, with all the spirit's striving,<br />
    Only to see oneself cut off by an abyss;<br />
    Each moment to desire and yet fear desiring...<br />
    O refuge of vexatious hearts,<br />
    O grave, sure path to peace,<br />
    When will you call to your embrace<br />
    The poor bard?"<br />
    <br />
    The bard's no more ... his lyre's silent...<br />
    All trace of him has disappeared from here;<br />
    The hills and valleys mourn;<br />
    And all is still ... save zephyrs soft,<br />
    That stir the faded wreath,<br />
    And waft betimes above the grave,<br />
    A woeful lyre responds:<br />
    Poor bard!
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