Tyll Owlglass
OBÜT 1530.
Like some mad meteor plunging through the dark
Abysmal vastness of the silent night,
Leaving a smoky trail of scintillant light
Behind, its weird and luminous route to mark,
So didst thou thro' the Middle Ages cark;
And thy rare humor and thy jesting bright
Dispelled the gloom of men, who, awed by fright,
Prayed for the dawn of which thou wast the lark!
From that grim, tyrant-haunted, monkish time
Of superstition, bigotry and ill,
No kindlier record would have reached our ears
Than one long, dolorous tale of blood and crime,
Had it not been for thee! And we hear still
Thy mellow laughter ebbing through the years!
Like some mad meteor plunging through the dark
Abysmal vastness of the silent night,
Leaving a smoky trail of scintillant light
Behind, its weird and luminous route to mark,
So didst thou thro' the Middle Ages cark;
And thy rare humor and thy jesting bright
Dispelled the gloom of men, who, awed by fright,
Prayed for the dawn of which thou wast the lark!
From that grim, tyrant-haunted, monkish time
Of superstition, bigotry and ill,
No kindlier record would have reached our ears
Than one long, dolorous tale of blood and crime,
Had it not been for thee! And we hear still
Thy mellow laughter ebbing through the years!
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