The Bard

Oh, bard of old whose harp was strung
To sing of knights and ladies fair
Thy songs are sweet and pure of soul
They charm the taverns everywhere

Thy songs of love, of war, of peace
Of joy, of sorrow, hope, and luck
Are still the same through many years
By generations on above

Oh, bard of old, thy songs are sung
By many a voice in many a land
They cheer the heart, they soothe the pain
In language all can understand

The world has changed but not thy song
The olden days remain unchanged
The knights are gone, the ladies fair
The tune of auld since rearranged

So sing on, bard of old, sing on
And let thy voice be heard afar
Thy songs are sweet and pure of soul
From Ireland to Zanzibar



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