AS I rode out of Lochinvar
About me all the scene was fair;
The skies, with not a cloud to mar,
Were filled with fresh and dewy air,
While making song, a merry throng,
The thrushes warbled everywhere.
As I rode out of Lochinvar
Through Fairydom I seemed to go,
For round about, and near and far,
Enchanted lights began to glow;
And where I went, on what intent,
And who I was I did not know!
For lo, I met a troubadour
As I rode out of Lochinvar;
His like on earth is seen no more,
With feathered hat and gay guitar;
And loud and clear, and sweet to hear,
He sang a song of love and war.
As I rode out of Lochinvar
He sang a song I somehow knew,
The while he touched his gay guitar;
And when I asked him, 'Who are you?'
'Yourself!' he said — and bowed his head,
And vanished like the morning dew.
Though I may see him nevermore,
This much in very truth I ken,
That one, at heart a troubadour,
May seem a sober citizen,
Who sets afar his gay guitar
To seem just like his fellow men.