When you are old and scarred, your beard grown gray,
and others in the Inn with tale and song
proclaim their deeds, then you will rise and say,
"Topaz praised me, when I was young and strong."

Then all will turn and look at you once more
with that same wonder that they see you now;
the very dust will whisper words of yore,
and glories past will shine upon your brow.

I shall be resting then in Cory's grace,
my battles ended and my soul at peace,
while you remain, the firelight on your face
still warm and bright, until your song shall cease.

Know, then, that like the echo of your name,
two things will never perish: love and fame.