Elegy

Ah me, where are my years all gone, without a sign?
Is it real or have I dreamt it, this long life of mine?
And was that really something which once so real I thought?
I have fallen asleep thereafter and have been ware of nought.
Now I am awakened and cannot understand
Things that were once familiar to me as mine own hand.
The people and the places where my youth passed by,
They are grown strange and alien, as though 'twere all a lie.
They who were once my playmates are listless now and old.
The wood is felled and bare, parcelled and ploughed the wold.
Save that the stream is flowing even as it flowed of yore,
I feel it all too well, my sorrow would be sore.
Old friends pass by, and scarcely a languid greeting spare;
The world is full of trouble here and everywhere.
When I call to remembrance many a happy day
Which like a ripple in the sea has vanished quite away,
Ever more, ah me!

Ah me, the youths and maidens, what sorry lives are theirs!
They, whose high hearts aforetime were little vexed with cares,
Can now do nought but sorrow. Ah, wherefore is it so?
I can find no man happy, wheresoe'er I go.
Sorrow hath wholly banished laughter, and dance, and song;
Never did Christian man see such a woeful throng.
Now mark ye how our ladies are fain to dress their hair!
Mark ye the clownish raiment our gallant knights must wear!
Letters from Rome have reached us; cruel and harsh are they:
Mourning is granted to us, mirth taken quite away.
It grieves me sore — right gladly we lived in those past years —
That now instead of laughter my portion must be tears.
The wild-wood birds are sad, so sorrowful are we.
What wonder, then, that I am downcast utterly?
Fool that I am! My folly and anger make me rave;
Who follows this world's joys hath lost the joys beyond the grave.
Ever more, ah me!

Ah me, how we are poisoned with sweet things, one and all!
Swimming amidst the honey I see the bitter gall.
The world is fair to look on, white and green and red,
But black within and gloomy — the colour of the dead.
Let him it hath misguided his comfort find herein: —
A penance light and easy frees him from heavy sin.
Ye knights, this is your duty; take thought and do not fail!
Ye wear the helmets bright and hardwrought coats of mail;
The stubborn shields ye bear and swords made consecrate.
Would God I were worthy of that glorious fate!
Then should I, needy wretch, earn a right rich reward;
Yet mean I no broad acres nor gold from any lord.
One of those heavenly crowns I should for ever wear,
Which even the hireling soldier may win him with his spear.
If I on that dear journey might sail beyond the sea,
Then should I ever sing "Good speed!" and never more "Ah me!"
Never more "Ah me!"