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Nurumaiel · 04-01-2004, 07:39 PM

"And glory to your song for it!" Liornung cried, clasping his friend's hand. "Alas, say I, for the sorrows of the world, yet we must not forget there is joy still and in the midst of death there is still life. Where then a lad, surrounded by those same battle cries and that same cold death, thinks of his lassie and recalls her love with joy and thinks not of death but of the day when he shall return to her then there is still hope. 'Tis always sweeter the day when sadness turns to joy!" He fell to pondering this for a time, and then turned bright eyes to the old man. "Sir," he said, "may all honor and glory be yours for your services to fair Rohan. May much sorrow befall me if I have recalled to your mind painful memories. Good Hearpwine has lifted the spell of sadness that was cast over me however, and even now as my eyes wander to the fair face of my darling niece songs of joy come to my mind and seek to find their ways to lips and fingers which find themselves anxious to touch those fiddle-strings again. Then permit me to sing again and again play and sing of glory, hope, love, and a valiant battle for freedom!"

Maercwen's eyes shone and she sat back in her seat, breathless with amazement and wonder. She had heard her uncle speak rousing words but in his speech of battle his spirit seemed to have been inflamed and it was kindled in his eye as he raised his bow again and lay it tentively on the strings. He paused for the briefest moment, his mind's eye already seeing the scene he was about to lay before them in music and song, and then the bow drew itself down across the string and a slow but rousing tune was pulled forth from his old, weather-worn instrument. A breeze from the open window softly made its way through the room and if by some strange magic the fiddle caused that same breeze to be scented with the sweet perfume of heroes and glory, a sunrise and a hope in the midst of death.

Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising
The men rode forth, their song reprising
Their once mild eyes with fire beaming
And from their spears the sunlight gleaming.

Hark how they cry out for their glory
Ne'er a one felt near to sorry
For their country, for their king
That battle cry o'er the plains did ring.

See the hope from their eyes glowing
Scores of doubt they're overthrowing
And their gallant hearts are beating
Death they're fearlessly meeting.

Hear the song they raise in granduer
Death and fear they do banter
They did not hesitate for a breath
They fought for life and scorned death.

See the shining swords unsheathing
Hear their heart's beat and their breathing
See their shields in morning light
Shine proud their emblem, horse so white.

If one does hang back in fear
If to die one will not dare
Let descend upon his name
Contempt for fools and coward shame.

On for Rohan, on for glory!
Let us find a name in story!
On for country, on for king!
Death to every foe do bring!

Then farewell to the sunshine bright
And farewell to the charm of night
For if in battle I do die
In pride and glory, in joy fell I!

No honor greater do I seek
Amid death's foul and awful reek
Then to die, and so to give
Hope that my country might still live.

Onward soldiers, stout and brave
Let none of you be traitor knave
We rose in battle Mordor's slaves
But we go in freedom to our graves!

And freedom rang loud and clear with the sound of the fiddle though Liornung's mouth had closed and his strong voice had faded. Maercwen did not hide her tears in shame but let them fall freely down her face as she stared in amazed admiration at her uncle. As his fiddle also felt silent she saw his eyes were also suspcisiously moist.

"If those brave men found no glory in life as they fought amid death, I pray that they find it now," Liornung murmured. "What greater honor can be bestowed upon a man than to fight and die for all that which he holds dear. And if he lives then we who can do naught but play simple music may show to the world all that joy and glory that they have thought lost in the midst of sorrow. Glory was lost for many, and they could not find it, but still it was there and it is resounded in all splendor with every simple strain of a fiddle and raised voice of a bard. These are the days we remember them and their sorrows and their deaths but we also remember their glories and heroic sacrifices!" He turned to Hearpwine, joy mingling with the tears in his eyes. "Good Hearpwine, I permitted myself to fall into a bleak mood and dwell on most sorrowful thoughts but I again I thank you for your song and your words to bring singing birds back into my heart. When a man loses all hope and joy what then in life does he have left?" The flame kindled in his eye again. "Hearpwine, tonight we shall rouse the good patrons of the noble White Horse as we sing of glorious deeds and the valor of simple men yet not so simple." A laugh sprang to his lips and he leaned back in his chair, a look of great self-satisfaction coming to his features. "Truly good Miss Aylwen could not hope for two finer singers than the two of us, could she now? Such music and songs will be heard in Edoras tonight that have rarely been heard before. Dare we venture to say such as what we will sing tonight will never be heard again? We can do naught but try." And he closed his eyes to muse over what he had said and what he had heard said.

04-01-2004, 07:39 PM	#49
Nurumaiel Vice of Twilight Join Date: Nov 2002 Location: on a mountain Posts: 1,121	Liornung "And glory to your song for it!" Liornung cried, clasping his friend's hand. "Alas, say I, for the sorrows of the world, yet we must not forget there is joy still and in the midst of death there is still life. Where then a lad, surrounded by those same battle cries and that same cold death, thinks of his lassie and recalls her love with joy and thinks not of death but of the day when he shall return to her then there is still hope. 'Tis always sweeter the day when sadness turns to joy!" He fell to pondering this for a time, and then turned bright eyes to the old man. "Sir," he said, "may all honor and glory be yours for your services to fair Rohan. May much sorrow befall me if I have recalled to your mind painful memories. Good Hearpwine has lifted the spell of sadness that was cast over me however, and even now as my eyes wander to the fair face of my darling niece songs of joy come to my mind and seek to find their ways to lips and fingers which find themselves anxious to touch those fiddle-strings again. Then permit me to sing again and again play and sing of glory, hope, love, and a valiant battle for freedom!" Maercwen's eyes shone and she sat back in her seat, breathless with amazement and wonder. She had heard her uncle speak rousing words but in his speech of battle his spirit seemed to have been inflamed and it was kindled in his eye as he raised his bow again and lay it tentively on the strings. He paused for the briefest moment, his mind's eye already seeing the scene he was about to lay before them in music and song, and then the bow drew itself down across the string and a slow but rousing tune was pulled forth from his old, weather-worn instrument. A breeze from the open window softly made its way through the room and if by some strange magic the fiddle caused that same breeze to be scented with the sweet perfume of heroes and glory, a sunrise and a hope in the midst of death. Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising The men rode forth, their song reprising Their once mild eyes with fire beaming And from their spears the sunlight gleaming. Hark how they cry out for their glory Ne'er a one felt near to sorry For their country, for their king That battle cry o'er the plains did ring. See the hope from their eyes glowing Scores of doubt they're overthrowing And their gallant hearts are beating Death they're fearlessly meeting. Hear the song they raise in granduer Death and fear they do banter They did not hesitate for a breath They fought for life and scorned death. See the shining swords unsheathing Hear their heart's beat and their breathing See their shields in morning light Shine proud their emblem, horse so white. If one does hang back in fear If to die one will not dare Let descend upon his name Contempt for fools and coward shame. On for Rohan, on for glory! Let us find a name in story! On for country, on for king! Death to every foe do bring! Then farewell to the sunshine bright And farewell to the charm of night For if in battle I do die In pride and glory, in joy fell I! No honor greater do I seek Amid death's foul and awful reek Then to die, and so to give Hope that my country might still live. Onward soldiers, stout and brave Let none of you be traitor knave We rose in battle Mordor's slaves But we go in freedom to our graves! And freedom rang loud and clear with the sound of the fiddle though Liornung's mouth had closed and his strong voice had faded. Maercwen did not hide her tears in shame but let them fall freely down her face as she stared in amazed admiration at her uncle. As his fiddle also felt silent she saw his eyes were also suspcisiously moist. "If those brave men found no glory in life as they fought amid death, I pray that they find it now," Liornung murmured. "What greater honor can be bestowed upon a man than to fight and die for all that which he holds dear. And if he lives then we who can do naught but play simple music may show to the world all that joy and glory that they have thought lost in the midst of sorrow. Glory was lost for many, and they could not find it, but still it was there and it is resounded in all splendor with every simple strain of a fiddle and raised voice of a bard. These are the days we remember them and their sorrows and their deaths but we also remember their glories and heroic sacrifices!" He turned to Hearpwine, joy mingling with the tears in his eyes. "Good Hearpwine, I permitted myself to fall into a bleak mood and dwell on most sorrowful thoughts but I again I thank you for your song and your words to bring singing birds back into my heart. When a man loses all hope and joy what then in life does he have left?" The flame kindled in his eye again. "Hearpwine, tonight we shall rouse the good patrons of the noble White Horse as we sing of glorious deeds and the valor of simple men yet not so simple." A laugh sprang to his lips and he leaned back in his chair, a look of great self-satisfaction coming to his features. "Truly good Miss Aylwen could not hope for two finer singers than the two of us, could she now? Such music and songs will be heard in Edoras tonight that have rarely been heard before. Dare we venture to say such as what we will sing tonight will never be heard again? We can do naught but try." And he closed his eyes to muse over what he had said and what he had heard said.