Sleeping Rose
If minstrel's ballad quoth no lies,
Hidden from the stranger's eyes
Somewhere between the earth and skies,
High in the mountains valley lies.
It's cloven in the mountains deep,
It's banks are hideously steep,
It lies in the enchanted sleep,
Shrouded with scent of roses sweet.
Concealed by dainty misty veil,
Untouched by years stays the vale,
Thus quoth the long-forgotten tale
About the Lady of Sloe Dale.
Besieged by forest deep and dark
Of briar with the darkling bark,
It all enchanted lies, and hark!
There sings no nightingale, no lark.
In dingy light on rocky prong
The castle rears proud and strong,
Nigh river flows and sings the song
Lest break the incantation long.
It's hidden from the night and day
By haze and shadows silver-grey,
There is no path, but sages say
That through the thicket leads the way.
This winding path is long-untrodden,
It's overgrown with grasses sodden,
About this path the shadows broaden,
No one shall bear this heavy burden.
The stronghold stands so high and proud,
And mighty battlements surround
The turret with bright silver crowned,
And there the maiden's sleeping sound.
One deadly gift born by the strife,
One gift of mercy bringing life,
The spell as keen as sharpened knife,
The age when fairies were still rife.
One fatal prick of mere spindle,
One dot of blood, a crimson rindle
On dainty finger, bound to kindle
The blaze of spell which'll never dwindle.
The bells ceased making up a jingle,
The flame went out in the ingle,
And then the thorns began to mingle
With roses of the mountain dingle.
Canst thou conceive of such a scene?
Deep is the sleep of King and Queen,
No one awake is to be seen
Among this gold-and-silver sheen.
Each maid and servant, every hound,
And cook with scullions around
For many years have been bound
To slumber, do not be astounded.
But time has come, the end is near,
Steed flies as fast as horseman's spear -
One gallant prince whose eyes are clear
Dared this quest disdaining fear.
The wayworn traveller now scorns
The mountains of many horns,
Surviving perils, cliffs and thorns
He dreams of her at eves and morns.
Thus, having faced so many dangers
And having forced through thorny hedges,
He came to place which never changes,
To sleeping maid who never ages.
And coming up the winding stair
He saw the fairest of the fair –
Like morning star the maid did glare,
Such brightness he could hardly bear.
Her breath is sweet as scent of rose
Which round her bed in plenty grows,
Her smile with star and moonlight glows,
Her golden hair gently flows.
He kissed the maid, and then the fire
Began to crackle, and the briar
Ceased up the siege and broke the gyre
Around the kingdom of her sire.
At last he’s reached his heart’s desire –
Awoke the maid in blue attire
And opened eyes of bright sapphire,
And to this day gives praise the lyre.
The minstrel's ballad doesn’t lie –
He asked her hand, she answered: ‘Aye’,
And people gave a joyful cry:
‘Your happiness shall not run dry!’
