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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=393371" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Bards Of Olden Time</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=393371" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Say, where is now that glorious race, where now are the singers<br> Who, with the accents of life, listening nations enthralled,<br> Sung down from heaven the gods, and sung mankind up to heaven,<br> And who the spirit bore up high on the pinions of song?<br> Ah! the singers still live; the actions only are wanting,<br> And to awake the glad harp, only a welcoming ear.<br> Happy bards of a happy world! Your life-teeming accents<br> Flew round from mouth unto mouth, gladdening every race.<br> With the devotion with which the gods were received, each one welcomed<br> That which the genius for him, plastic and breathing, then formed.<br> With the glow of the song were inflamed the listener's senses,<br> And with the listener's sense, nourished the singer the glow--<br> Nourished and cleansed it,--fortunate one! for whom in the voices<br> Of the people still clear echoed the soul of the song,<br> And to whom from without appeared, in life, the great godhead,<br> Whom the bard of these days scarcely can feel in his breast.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Friedrich+Schiller">Friedrich Schiller</a></strong></div>

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