A tavern bard with a priceless lute. A common room of weathered Medieval souls aching for something artful. Tragedy is always preferred, for misery loves company. The bard is reknowned, his talent is obvious, and the innkeeper is paying him well. The first chord from the lute, and the spell is cast. Mouthfuls of ale are swallowed, tankards are set quietly on wooden tables, and barmaids tuck greasy rags down linen blouses and find favorite laps to rest and listen. The bard's voice is warm syrup dripping from the Tree of Tragic Tales ...
It left the quay, a ship of strife,
on a slate-gray clouded morn.
High seas fetched forth a man-child’s grin
and a mother most forlorn.
She drenched with tears an aging breast
which suckled once the child
who stood now pleased astride the prow,
dark eyes far and wild.
Her love dismissed, in spraying mists,
stood Gabrielle on the dock,
dour gown swirls beneath apricot curls,
youthful world in shock.
What hateful nerve did Thetis use
to beguile her virile boy?
That Siren bitch, in soothing pitch,
with her fledgling love did toy!
CHORUS
On solemn, careless winds the timeless tides they swell.
What tale of hope or woe will these endless breakers tell?
Splashes, crashes, foam and froth—begging him to stay,
the maiden of the dying love sheds anguished tears today!
On pinkish reef just out to sea
flared a pair of milky eyes.
The queen of seas absorbed the curse
and stretched her briny thighs.
What mortal girl would fling such hate
—a Greek lass doomed to reap!
The winds will blow, the seas will churn,
and the brazen girl shall weep.
Day-by-day on lonesome quay
no homeward ship did moor,
but news of storms and surging seas
with merchants came ashore.
Gabrielle, whose hope did wane,
sat on a soaring crown,
flinging prayers—vigil held!
—and sleeping on the down.
CHORUS
On solemn, careless winds the timeless tides they swell.
What tale of hope or woe will these endless breakers tell?
Splashes, crashes, foam and froth—squinting from the lee,
the maiden of the dying love casts bitter tears to sea!
The horizon line—that rigid sign!
—once calming thoughts could bring,
and a lofty gull on salted wing
would gift some hope to cling.
But now the twilight fades to black
and stars bejewel the sky,
and the rising tide makes no reply
to her tortured, ceaseless cry.
Queen Thetis of the ocean blue,
sent nymphs in scanty clothes
to tempt the boy with lust and fame
and all the loot that glows.
And Gabrielle, who gave her heart
to one who would be free,
flung herself from the soaring crown
into the savage sea.
CHORUS
On solemn, careless winds the timeless tides they swell.
Now a tale of tragic love these endless breakers tell!
Splashes, crashes, foam and froth—blood swirls in the tide,
the maiden of the dying love on cresting waves must ride.
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