An old bard calls out to a joyful young person, inviting them to see the morning as an image of truth freshly born. Warmth and urgency mingle in his voice. He wants the youth to leave behind the “clouds of reason”—dark disputes, artful teasing—that only bring confusion. Folly is an endless maze with tangled roots; many have stumbled through it all night, tripping over bones, feeling a heavy, nameless care. The speaker’s mood shifts from bright promise to a sober warning. Those lost in that maze try to lead others when they should be led. There’s a protective, almost prophetic weight to the bard’s words. The poem feels like a sunrise undercut by a chill: its lilt is inviting, yet the image of bones and lost wanderers leaves a quiet ache.
The Voice of the Ancient Bard — Summary
Youth of delight! come hither And see the opening morn, Image of Truth new-born. Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason, Dark disputes and artful teazing. Folly is an endless maze; Tangled roots perplex her ways; How many have fallen there! They stumble all night over bones of the dead; And feel--they know not what but care; And wish to lead others, when they should be led.