【Roamer with the Bell】
樂譜 - Sheets
A patch of moonlight on the path to my home Through the thickets of myrtle out of bloom With the sky colourless in the evening gloom The shade of the branches does tenderly comb. 'Tis not far from the dim lights of hills yon ahead And the spinning windmill sends its croak. With a cane and a lamp, in a black-hooded cloak, In silent paces I tread... In a time that wasn't named In the lands yet to be tamed Was a tale that I heard tell Of the Roamer with the Bell Winter, 1984 I roved the woods along the shore I'd travelled down untrodden ways In quest of lore of th' olden days And when the night fell, out of darkness came a voice... "O Fair wanderer, tell me where I stride For the roads through the dark woods seem ever alike 'Tis but vain in this misty labyrinth to hike Pray the Lord my ways to guide" "Pray the Lord my ways to guide" Said the stranger amber-eyed She wasn't cold, nor was she kind 'Twas her song that caught my mind And so I said, well, if I may The place is called the Witherslay A sweeter name it once had had Until one night when all went mad Tombs and graves still bear the name Of Wintersleigh, a town of fame Ere devils came on horses' backs— A grimly night of shining blade and axe! And when the day dawned, not one single body stood... Isn't it beautiful, how on Deaths history is writ How Sorrows and Grief in our names are woven? So my friend, who chose this mournful place to rove in Will the name of yours be mine to wit? "So," she said, hardly paying attention to my enquiry, "I suspect you're sort of a historian?" "Oh no, just a folklorist who, if born a quarter millennium earlier, Could have entertained the idea of becoming a bard." "And why the lantern left unlit in the dark?" Isn't it beautiful, how on Darkness Lights are laid How Truth and Deceit to the same dam are born? If Fate decrees this tranquilness be torn Let it be the sound of my cane Tapping my lantern pane But spare my moonlighted path From my grief, from my wrath From any colour, O from any colour manmade! The song from the Roamers of old I have learnt, The song to thee now I have passed. Though the flames of thy lantern-bell nevermore last, Thy taper of tales shall forever be burnt.