I sing now to you solemn Clio, bearer of the scrolls,
The winding path of history you have recorded and tracked.
History is a kind thing, oft neglected and ignored,
Men doomed to repeat, if to your soft word they do not heed.
You are the watcher of passing days, like a still and rooted tree,
And your voice is a soft rustle of the breeze playing among the leaves.
The hide scrolls, or the parchment book it matters not,
For silently you watch and wait, and record man’s good and ill deed.
What many things there are for you to account, through the hands of men,
And though I may never be as fair as you of word and speech,
Clio if you grant me fine memory, of that which has passed and gone,
When singing of far greater deeds, I will honor you in my song.