Two Violins

(a medieval-folk-rock tribute)

 

Widely spread was the fame of esteemed royal bard,

The one who could sing for the King.

Anything he could play, be it drums or a harp;

He mastered his fine violin.

 

Mighty proud he was, as he challenged one day

All men with a musical skill.

Take my fine violin this was what he proclaimed,

If you name a song I cant sing.

 

So the talented folk started coming to him

From heartlands and seashores alike.

Many ballads they knew, but he still was supreme,

As he knew all names that they tried.

 

Then a young man arrived and confronted the bard;

He had just an old violin.

Can you reckon the song of a travelers heart

And three wondrous ladies of dream?

 

I remember the ballads of travelling knights

And beautiful ladies they praise.

Come and play me a pattern, and I will say fine

As soon as your lucky time ends.

 

So the bow has touched one of worn-out strings;

Slow-tempoed, sad music was heard,

And the crowd fell silent, so solemn it seemed,

Such vibrant emotions it brought.

 

In the lands far and distant,

In the woods dark and misty,

One could find a cottage, a glade and a lake.

 

The lake was delightful;

The cottage was tidy;

Three beautiful sisters were calling it home.

 

One could see the eldest,

The lady of fairness,

With hazelnut hair and dark shining eyes.

 

Another, the young one,

The lady of wonder,

Red-braided, white-skinned, and with ocean-green eyes.

 

And also the youngest,

The lady of brightness,

With sand-coloured hair as long as her waist.

 

A traveler stranding

Once came by their chambers;

In deep admiration, he spoke to the girls.

 

Said he to the eldest:

O lady of fairness,

Im master of words but no master of tunes.

 

This anthems my writing;

Add notes good and mighty,

And we will create a magnificent song.

 

No, no, said the eldest,

The lady of fairness,

For I am no master of melodies too.

 

Said he to the young one:

O lady of wonder,

Im master of words but no master of oils.

 

This sketch is my making;

Come help me to paint it,

And we will create some magnificent art.

 

No, no, said the young one,

The lady of wonder,

For I am no master of colouring too.

 

Said he to the youngest:

O lady of brightness,

Im master of words but no master of charms.

 

This chant is my dreaming;

Come help me to live it,

And we will create a magnificent spell.

 

No, no, said the youngest,

The lady of brightness,

For I am no master of magic as well.

 

The lake was delightful;

The cottage was tidy;

No traveler stranding was calling it home.

 

The musician has finished and bowed his head;

Yet no one has uttered a thing.

Then the bard has approached the young man and said:

Take this, its my fine violin.

 

Now tell me, how comes that I dont know the ballad?

Its simple, the young man has said.

Unlike all the others who have here gathered,

I sang one Ive written myself.

 

06.08.19