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Bardic Arts

The Tower

Sean Graethorne
August 2, 1988 (A.S. XXIII)

There on the Tower, stands the Lady, her eyes clouded, and far away.
In the forest below, her lover waits, patiently, for the end of day.
The Lord, the Lady’s father, has forbade they speak.
She shall wed a noble Knight, not a Minstrel from the street.
The Minstrel watches as the sun sets, and the Lady’s hair catches flame.
Longing wounds him anew; in his heart echoes her name.


A wall stands between two who should be one;
A father’s pride, as cold as stone.

Steel hook, gleaming in the night, carry the rope over the wall.
The Minstrel steals within, following his heart’s call.
A harp rides his back; no sword has he.
A ghost in the shadows, he finds the Lady’s door.
She stands by the window, waiting, dressed to travel, disguised as a man.
She carries a purse of her father‘s gold; this she places in his hand.


The wall is all left standing in their way;
One kiss they risk, before they fade into the night.

Morning comes, and a father rages; his soldiers search the countryside.
Neither is ever found.  In the night, the father cries.
Where did they go?  Where did they run to?  Wonders the father as he dies.
Years have gone by, without a word; rich & mighty, he dies alone.
Beyond the walls of birth & station, happily, the Minstrel & the Lady thrive;
Their kingdom is the Road, the woods, & the stars.


Walls of pride hold love out, not in;
My tale, my song, Lords & Ladies, is done

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