Oer the mountains that call to the moon;
Over the mists of the morning;
Oer the river-spun valleys of noon,
There a dream lies a-borning.
Songs of the elder days come to me.
Such shall we claim as our dower.
Songs of battle and pageantry;
Songs of chivalry's flower.
Sounds of the battle more sweetly do call,
Death claims us not when we tarry.
Life harkens not where the arrows may fall,
After the wars we make merry.
Songs of the marching shall carry me;
Such shall we claim for our pleasure.
Songs of the pride and nobility
Songs of chivalry's treasure.
Tales of the heros and tourneys of May;
Wind-tossed the pennants are flying.
Honor and glory may crown us some day.
Never shall honor fall dying.
Songs of the feasting shall own the night,
Such shall we claim for our story.
Voices shall rise, and we'll sing as we might,
Songs of chivalry's glory.
(Mistress Bronwen o Gydweli, August 29th, A.S. XXXIII, 1998)