I.

Muses who inspire my voice,
spirits who have witnessed much,
Lend me strength of song and soul,
as I speak of time's hoar touch.
Sing now of the forest glens,
of light of sun and light of moon
Sing of the silver waters still,
in whose depths the stars are strewn.
Where now are the halcyon days?
Where now are the fearless nights?
Where the strength of steel and stone,
and the shadows scattering?
Where the magic of moon's dance,
and the white deer wandering?
All these are memory, all a tale
Of long-forgotten glory.

(Who shall recall the years flown past,
and retell our story?)

II.

Spirits, aid me in my thought;
Recall the far years of my youth.
When strength and knowledge were not mine,
but only seeking for the truth.
In that pursuit to travel far,
in lands both strange and wonderful,
with enemies not yet so grim,
nor friends yet tired and sorrowful.
And when at last I turned my steps,
My home was lit with candles' light.
The alabaster road beneath my feet,
Marked with the songbird's darting flight.
The leaves which laughed in spring's swift breeze
Are sighing in the autumn wind.
And all the merry voices fade
To silence of the deaf and blind.

(How should I mourn the disappeared,
or allay all these shadowed fears?)

III.

Yet could I turn time with a rite,
as can the Matrix-guardians,
Would I undo what has transpired,
And have all things as they were once?
With sorrow gone as if a dream,
with the unweaving of the years,
Must go the friendships forged in need,
Tempered by both blood and tears.
Those dearly loved, my heart's embrace,
would pass as strangers on the roads,
And all the flowers in the wood
would lack the grace a Bard bestowed.
Therefore, spirits, hear my song,
my elegy for what is gone.
Now look to night-fall and moon-rise,
and the swift coming of the dawn.

(Fear not for me, for still I hope,
and will retell our story.)