When I was young I'd often roam
To distant lands---quite far from home---
   And on these trips I'd often see
   Wondrous things of mystery.

One trip I remember well,
Where on the Plains of Azrhodel,
   Amidst the Mountains of the Lorn,
   I spied the City of the Morn.

The golden sun was rising slow;
The city walls were all aglow;
   A summer breeze was in the air
   And all had gathered for the fair.

The fair was true a wondrous thing
Where one could hear the minstrels sing
   Where jugglers tossed their scarves and knives
   As husbands capered with their wives;

Where archers showed their deadly aim
And shot their way to lasting fame
   While people thronged into the streets
   To witness their astounding feats.

The air was thick with smells of food
And thick with chatter---fair and crude.
   'Twas thick with sounds of clashing swords
   And cheers from Ladies and from Lords.

And at the very stroke of noon,
Beneath the festival festoon,
   The richest kings and servants least
   Were gathered for a mighty feast.

Every type of fruit was there,
(From plum to peach and grape to pear),
   As well as many types of meat
   And several kinds of pastry sweet.

The wine and ale and rum and beer
And mead and water, (crystal clear),
   So freely flowed from cup and bowl
   That fast away the daylight stole.

As evening time was drawing near
All the folk were filled with cheer,
   And as the shout went out, "More ale!"
   Someone yelled, "Let's hear a tale!"

Out of the shadows stepped a sage;
His ancient frame was bent with age;
   His beard and hair were snowy white
   But in his eyes there shone a light.

He shuffled forward to the fire
And sitting down, he strummed his lyre,
   And in a voice, pure and ringing,
   He began his tale by singing:

"Long ago there lived a king
And of his realm I now will sing;
   His lands were fair with wood and stream
   And he was held in high esteem.

"For in his court were valiant knights
Whose might in arms won countless fights;
   Whose gentle speech and chivalry
   Were of uncommon high degree.

"Ere long, however, it befell
That things began to go not well;
   Woeful tidings from the North
   Were brought by trav'lers fleeing forth.

"Between the mountains and the sea
'Twas said there grew no shrub nor tree;
   'Twas said the land was all a waste
   And countless towns had been defaced.

"'Twas said an evil, mighty beast
Had winged its way there from the East,
   And cloaked in smoke and dreadful ire,
   Had scorched the land with dragon fire.

"So, at the King's and Queen's behest
The knights set out upon a quest;
   Hearts and minds bent toward one aim---
   The Northern Lands they would reclaim.

"For many months the knights rode on
From dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn;
   Over fields and 'cross the plains
   And through the stormy winds and rains.

"And, as they slowly chased the beast,
Their numbers gradually decreased,
   'Til, on the day they found the Cleft,
   Scarce were there one hundred left.

"The Cleft was dark and sharp and steep,
And formed a narrow valley deep
   Through the Mountains of the Beast
   That separated North from East.

"When they reached the other side,
Across a valley flat and wide,
   They beheld a crumbling tower,
   Drooping like a wilted flower.

"As the sun was quick descending
And the day was nearly ending,
   Knights and horses, toiling hard,
   Entered the ruined castle yard.

"The stones were melted smooth, like glass,
And nowhere was there any grass.
   The ground was covered underfoot
   With ashes and with dark black soot.

"The knights made camp and built a fire
And for the night, some did retire;
   But others went to look around
   And see what treasure could be found.

"One young knight, (a beardless lad,
Quite fair of face and seldom sad),
   Was walking past the ruined well,
   When, stumbling hard, he tripped and fell.

"As curses poured forth in a stream
His eyes beheld a silver gleam
   Nestled in some broken timbers
   Shining in the firelight's embers.

"With hand outstretched he eagerly
Grasped the thing and pulled it free
   And, fingers itching with desire,
   Hurried forward toward the fire.

"The knight sat down upon the ground
To look and see what he had found,
   Then took the thing and held it up
   And mused, 'Tis just some kind of cup'.

"But reaching deep within his bag
And pulling out a linen rag,
   He soaked it in some juice of lime
   And wiped away the grit and grime.

"Suddenly the cup was gleaming
Silver in the firelight, beaming;
   Shining brightly through the night
   And pouring forth a brilliant light.

"Staring downward through the glare
The knight beheld a story there,
   Carved in small, precise detail
   Upon the surface of the grail.

"Etched upon the silver chalice
Was an image of a palace
   Circled round by fields and trees
   And prosperous communities,

"But leaving through the palace gate,
Pursuing some uncertain fate,
   Were twice two-hundred mounted men,
   Fully armored, head to chin.

"Slowly, as the chalice turned,
And lower still the watch-fire burned,
   In the cunning craft-strokes bold,
   The young knight watched the tale unfold.

"The mighty host of men rode on
'Til many moons had come and gone
   And nary were there five score left
   When, from afar, they spied a cleft.

"The cleft led to a cavern deep
Whose rocky sides were sharp and steep,
   And deep within the walls of stone
   Were sev'ral dragons---halfway grown.

"The knights with swords and axes keen
Waged a battle, fierce and mean,
   And when they came forth from the ground
   They left behind them not a sound.

"The young knight sat and quietly thought
That this was what the knights had sought;
   The men had sought to slay the beasts
   And tell their tale at future feasts;

"But as he slowly turned the grail
The young knight's handsome face turned pale,
   For, near the vessel's shining rim,
   He saw a scene quite gray and grim.

"The host of men had made a camp
And built a fire---a signal lamp
   To tell the people, far and near,
   That they had nothing more to fear,

"But in the middle of the night
The knights awoke all filled with fright,
   For, in the pitch-black sky, up high,
   A mighty flame was drawing nigh.

"Swooping down, with flaming breath,
A dragon filled the night with death,
   Burning earth and grass and tree
   And chasing all who tried to flee.

"Although the knights and horses fled,
The dragon chased 'til all were dead
   Except for one who fled in stealth
   And settled in a land of wealth.

"To those at court he told his tale;
The smiths engraved it on a grail
   And for a time he had his fame,
   But in the end the dragon came.

"In flame, the dragon struck with might;
The castle crumbled in the night;
   The dragon left no stone unturned
   And all who fled in fire were burned.

"The young knight, staring through the dark
At barren lands, so bleak and stark,
   Knew the dragon was no other
   Than the half-grown dragons' mother.

"And he knew with certitude
That this same beast the knights pursued
   Had righteous reason for revenge,
   And thinking of it made him cringe.

"The young knight was at once distressed
In realizing that his quest
   To slay the dragon must be doomed;
   He feared in fire he'd be consumed.

"And, glancing up into the night,
He saw a swift approaching light
   Turn the sky from black to red,
   So, gathering his things, he fled.

"Never has there been a tale
To tell what happened in that vale---
   No stories of the beast's attack---
   For not a single knight came back.

At last the old man's strumming ceased
And everybody at the feast
   Began at once to clap and cheer
   And praise the gifted balladeer.

Servants brought him drink and meat
And many tasty treats to eat
   While people tossed him coins of gold
   As payment for the tale he'd told.

I tossed my coin upon the ground
And saw the old man glance around,
   And briefly, as his eyes met mine,
   His withered face appeared benign.

The coins he scraped into a pile;
The counting of them made him smile,
   And when his counting coins was through
   I asked him if the tale was true.

Reaching deep inside his bag
And pulling out a bundled rag,
   He took the rag and, standing up,
   He handed me a silver cup.

Reflected in the firelight pale
I read the tale etched on the grail,
   And finally, at last, I knew
   The old man's story to be true.

The old man picked his coins up
And placed them in the silver cup,
   Then put the chalice in his pack
   And slung his lyre across his back.

Aiming toward some unseen mark
He headed off into the dark---
   A wand'ring knight without a king
   Who has a tragic tale to sing.