Within the light, within the dark,

Upon the hill where fair wolves hark

And listen to the Rounded Harp

That plays its tune to oceans sharp.

There, in the silence of the wind

That place of old that knew no fiend,

There, in the chamber of the wild,

Dwelled folk of nature, folk beguiled

By stories old and magicks rare,

By Lands and Castles in the air.

Yet, in their age, and things they saw,

They lacked the leadership of yore:

They bent to no one, and in Time

As is the law, things intertwine.

Their greed for knowledge grew in haste

And turned to vanity, and truth replaced.

For many years they wrought and wronged,

Until at last, their end had dawned.

But, at that moment it was late

To run for bridges that they lamed.

Nor was such action ever tried

From their confusion they did hide,

And so in hiding they remained

Until their leader them unmade.