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.<br /><br />Friedrich Schiller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-bards-of-olden-time/
