Post by aelfwynn on Mar 15, 2006 22:31:13 GMT -5
There's something about it that I'm not entirely happy with.
I
Of purest silver are his wings,
Alabaster, his skin,
A diadem around his head,
Made from gold, strong and thin.
A white robe clothes him,
A quiver ‘pon his back,
His arrows are of light and cloud,
Their tips of ebony black.
His bow is strung with unicorn hair,
A sword hangs by his side,
A flame burns deep within its blade,
As it carved the wind, it sighed.
With wings outspread, the angel soars,
Unseen to Mortal eyes,
He parts the clouds with down-swept wings,
First to the Fairie groves he flies.
There upon a tree he lands,
And gazes down below,
To where a maiden, unsuspecting,
Encounters the Fairie glow.
A simple maiden she is,
Carved out of the country,
A woven basket in her hands,
Collecting mushrooms is she.
Brown hair falls down her back,
Cascading in muddy falls,
Gloved hands clasp the wicker strands,
As to her a fairy calls.
“Come away, come away,”
She glances back in fear,
But ever the Fairies sof’en voices
Echo in her ear.
“Come away, come away,”
They whisper in her ear,
And tiny hands reach out to her,
As she draws steadily near.
The wicker basket falls to her feet,
She looks up in surprise,
And smiles as she sees
Two sparkling golden eyes.
“Come away, come away,
For one night from here,
We will have you back ‘fore morning’s dawn,
Come away, have no fear.”
The wicker basket begins to crumble,
A week goes by, then a year,
A deerskin glove is all that remains,
All that remains of her.
Yet still the Angel sits and waits,
While the moss grows on the tree,
Waiting for the years to pass,
For the maiden to be free.
At last she stumbles from the mist,
And only a night has passed for her.
She stumbles on the wicker remains,
And the patches of animal fur.
She is unchanged, un-aged,
No time has touched she,
For only a night has passed for her,
But outside, a century.
The Angel sighs and shakes his head,
And rises from his repose.
He stretches and spreads his wings,
Freed from his century’s pose.
He leaves the maiden as she weeps,
And sinks to her knees in the loam,
For she has found the small green mound;
She has found her husband's home.
II
And up into the sky he flies,
Into the air so clear,
A grey cloak about him,
He looks to the river’s wear.
There he swoops down low,
The river’s surface a shimmering pool,
The fish dart from the angel’s wings,
The water clear and cool.
The angel watches as they swim,
In and out of the weeds,
Unaware – so unaware! –
Of the fisherman in the reeds.
The spear darts down into the deep,
Down into the black,
Down into the silver skin,
Into the fish’s back.
Alarmed, his brothers scatter,
The fish brought up to choke.
The Angel flies to sit and watch,
Perched on the Oxen’s yoke.
The fish and spear on a rock are placed,
A stone brought down on its head,
His suffering ended,
Given peace at last instead.
The Angel smiles, for with each moment,
The pain the fish had felt was his,
From his perch his wings he folds,
Aware now of perfect bliss.
The fish is wrapped and stowed away,
The men turn to the Oxen carts,
And into each the Angel looks,
He finds compassion in their hearts.
Each man carries a pointed stick,
Upon which hang, row on row,
Either fish, or meat – on one
He sees the flesh of a doe.
He moves on, upstream,
To where firelight glows,
And more pointed sticks can be seen,
Standing in alert rows.
He sits and watches as men gather round,
And the meat is laid on the fire,
Over sticks and blackened coal,
Laid over the wire.
Laughing, the men hug their wives,
Another good day was had,
The children dance around their feet,
Not one face looks sad.
The angel stands to one side,
Alone and unseen.
He smiles and spreads his wings,
‘pon which the fire casts a golden sheen.
III
Into the air he takes again,
Skimming o’er mountains grey,
Though Night’s cooling, dark embrace,
To Dawn’s purple day.
He sees the splendour of the moon,
Robed in shimmering white,
Surrounded by her tiny maids,
Each shining their own light.
He watches as the day’s first rays
Pierce the fading night,
And a thousand shards of glass
Shimmer like starlight.
He flies low above the grass
And marvels at each one,
A tiny crystal drop
Reflecting the moon and sun.
He sees the golden threads of light
Turn the sky to blue and red,
And watches as the sun stirs,
And raises its golden head.
He skims along frozen lakes,
Inspects a web laden with dew,
Follows the patterns laid down by the frost,
Sees the world laid out anew.
He bids the Moon a fond farewell
As she relinquishes to the Sun,
He basks in his mighty glow,
Until his time is done;
And the Moon rises up once more,
And the Sun sinks to his rest,
While the Angel watches every move,
In that dance eternally blest.
The Sun sinks down into the West,
The Night encroaches once more,
And the Angel, loving both as much,
Speeds the Sun to Morning’s Door.
IV
Now far the Angel speeds onwards,
Into the forest of evergreen,
And watches with eyes rewnewed
As the dawn reveals things unseen.
He revels in the cheery sound
Of the birds greeting the new day,
He gazes into mirky pools,
Where the Beavers begin to play.
He watches where the Foxes hunt
He watches where the Badgers roam,
He watches where the Hares run,
When the hunt calls them home.
He enters into a sunlit glade,
With bluebells under foot,
And the Kestrel lets out a noble cry,
And the Owl a mournful hoot.
He watches how the sunlight's rays
Upon the leaves gently play,
Turning them from green to gold,
At beginning and end of day.
And to the mountains he now flies,
Those tow'ring pillars of stone,
Passing over the grassy plains,
Where the horses are painted roan.
He sees the light play on mountain streams,
The water bouncing and splashing clear,
And the mountain hare combs its ears,
Away from humans, it has no fear.
The Angel revels in these delights,
The mountain and the forests old,
He sees the joy in every leaf,
In every rock he stoops to hold.
V
Now high above the Earth he waits,
High above the earth he flies,
He watches as the seasons change,
As the eagle changes its cries.
He watches as the Spring takes hold,
And flowers rise from the earth,
Nature takes hold again,
And the world widens her girth.
The air is sweet and filled with dew,
Green leaves unfurl and open wide,
And flowers ripen in the sun,
Summer has come to Springtime's side.
Blossom falls from trees high,
The wind is full of seeds blown high,
Apples ripen on the branch,
The season of harvest draws nigh.
The wheat ripens in the field,
The leaves turn brown, red and gold,
The cold air starts to chill,
As Autumn begins to take hold.
Now Winter with his desperate grasp,
Coats the world in a blanket of snow,
And trees are knight with temp'ry crowns,
And spirits are held low.
But Spring comes round again,
Relieves the cold with warmer breeze,
And round the seasons roll again,
From warmest days to the winter freeze.
VI
Now over mountains and valleys he flies,
Over hill and over dale,
Through the forest’s amber glow,
Through the misty morning veil.
He sees the sun break on the hill,
He crests the mountains tall,
He wanders through the leafless wood,
As the snow begins to fall.
The trees stand in silent rows,
Enobled with temporary crowns,
As the Angel walks between the trunks,
Robed in virginal white gowns.
The angel sees the seasons pass,
Winter gives way to Spring,
And as the world begins to thaw,
The angel takes to wing.
Once again the angel flies,
Into the forest’s emerald light,
Where shafts of gold pierce the heart
Of the forest’s imposed night.
And by and by the Angel comes,
To a maiden fast asleep,
And a knight by her side does
Over her his watch keep.
Through the night the two sleep,
Gently wrapped in a loving embrace,
And by and by the moon rises,
Gleaming with a lover’s face.
The maiden in his arms
Stirs with a little moan,
And he draws her closer to him,
Claiming her for his own.
The Angel leaves them to their ways,
Gives them space for their Beltane rite,
But smiles as he sees how soft
Their touch is in the night.
VII
To Harpelstane the Angel flies,,
Where a castle stands tall,
An old oak grows tall and wild
Against the ruined wall.
Against the wall a hill rises,
A green hill topp'd with stone,
The castle stands in ruins,
A perfect Dragon's home.
The sun beats down relentlessly,
Upon the fighter's head,
As he goes to face the dragon-beast,
Who lives there, it is said.
The dragon appeared long ago,
To terrorize the sky.
Fighters have tried to drive it off,
But many of them have died.
The dragon fights with tooth and claw,
And with the strength of four men,
The fighters know it must be killed,
For the citadel to defend.
The dragon takes a mighty toll,
Its hunger for to sate,
Cattle and more than a virgin or two,
And death will be their fate.
A beat of the wings and a loud crack
Sends the creature way up high,
And fire scores the air and earth
As the wings rake the sky.
Its wings are brightest crimson,
Its body orange and gold,
But its eyes are darkest sable,
Eyes as black as its soul.
But the dragon cannot fight in the air,
And so must come to ground,
Where the fighter waits to meet it,
His sword and shield unbound.
The fighter's helm gleams bright in the sun,
On sword and shield fine,
"No longer on cattle and on maids,
Foul beast, will you dine."
"Fool!" Said the beast, "For now you will die,
And rot here in the sun.
I will rid you of your flesh and bone,
`Ere the day is done."
But the fighter he was noble and brave,
And advanced with caution due.
The dragon roared and screamed with pain,
As the fighter's sword it flew.
Now back and forth the battle went,
The Dragon lost its tail,
And from Edzell to the furthest shores,
You could hear the dragon's wail.
Alas, our bravest hope yet,
Did not escape from harm,
For the Dragon for its payment due,
Took the fighter's arm.
Yet still he battled on and on,
This lone fighter brave,
And with the sun sinking low,
Edzell castle he did save.
For as the sun turned to crimson rays,
The fighter saw his chance,
And the dragon roared as the fighter pierced
The dragon heart with his lance.
Now in the ruins of Edzell,
The place which now is free,
In the place where the dragon fell,
There is said to grow a tree.
It branches are old and withered,
And no leaf does it bear,
But if you gaze at it closely,
This you might swear:
That the tree's in the shape of an upside down,
And very withered pair,
Of Dragon's claws snatching upwards,
Pointing towards the air…
And the tree grows at the bottom
Of the green hill topp'd with stone,
That could look like a dragon,
with its head turned into stone.
And the angel watches as this occurs,
In the turning summer air,
And watches each year as the hill moves,
As the dragon stirs in its lair.
For though the fighter brave he pierced
The dragon to its heart,
Dragons have but two of these,
Though weaker the second heart.
So each year now the dragon stirs,
And roars up to the sky,
Then returns back to the green hill tall,
Another year there to lie.
And the citizens of Edzell
Know the tree by the wall,
For each year when the dragon rises,
The claws stir first of all.
VIII
The Angel then know he has seen enough,
And reaches to the sky,
He sees the sun go on its path,
The clouds scudding by.
“I have passed over hill and dale,
I have seen the stars begin to pale,
I have seen the day turn to night,
I have watched as the hunted takes flight.
I have seen the beauty of the earth,
I have spanned the oceans girth,
I have seen life come and seen life go,
I have seen the river of life flow.
I have seen the highest mountain tall,
And seen the cities and kings great hall,
I have heard the tumbling mountain brook,
Have seen into the darkest nook.
I have seen horrors and beauties both,
I have watched the flower’s growth,
I have seen the Dragon dark,
I have heard the morning Lark.
I saw the world with eyes anew –
I saw the mists and mountain dew,
but of all of these, what ranks above,
is that beautiful thing that Humans call ‘Love’.”
I
Of purest silver are his wings,
Alabaster, his skin,
A diadem around his head,
Made from gold, strong and thin.
A white robe clothes him,
A quiver ‘pon his back,
His arrows are of light and cloud,
Their tips of ebony black.
His bow is strung with unicorn hair,
A sword hangs by his side,
A flame burns deep within its blade,
As it carved the wind, it sighed.
With wings outspread, the angel soars,
Unseen to Mortal eyes,
He parts the clouds with down-swept wings,
First to the Fairie groves he flies.
There upon a tree he lands,
And gazes down below,
To where a maiden, unsuspecting,
Encounters the Fairie glow.
A simple maiden she is,
Carved out of the country,
A woven basket in her hands,
Collecting mushrooms is she.
Brown hair falls down her back,
Cascading in muddy falls,
Gloved hands clasp the wicker strands,
As to her a fairy calls.
“Come away, come away,”
She glances back in fear,
But ever the Fairies sof’en voices
Echo in her ear.
“Come away, come away,”
They whisper in her ear,
And tiny hands reach out to her,
As she draws steadily near.
The wicker basket falls to her feet,
She looks up in surprise,
And smiles as she sees
Two sparkling golden eyes.
“Come away, come away,
For one night from here,
We will have you back ‘fore morning’s dawn,
Come away, have no fear.”
The wicker basket begins to crumble,
A week goes by, then a year,
A deerskin glove is all that remains,
All that remains of her.
Yet still the Angel sits and waits,
While the moss grows on the tree,
Waiting for the years to pass,
For the maiden to be free.
At last she stumbles from the mist,
And only a night has passed for her.
She stumbles on the wicker remains,
And the patches of animal fur.
She is unchanged, un-aged,
No time has touched she,
For only a night has passed for her,
But outside, a century.
The Angel sighs and shakes his head,
And rises from his repose.
He stretches and spreads his wings,
Freed from his century’s pose.
He leaves the maiden as she weeps,
And sinks to her knees in the loam,
For she has found the small green mound;
She has found her husband's home.
II
And up into the sky he flies,
Into the air so clear,
A grey cloak about him,
He looks to the river’s wear.
There he swoops down low,
The river’s surface a shimmering pool,
The fish dart from the angel’s wings,
The water clear and cool.
The angel watches as they swim,
In and out of the weeds,
Unaware – so unaware! –
Of the fisherman in the reeds.
The spear darts down into the deep,
Down into the black,
Down into the silver skin,
Into the fish’s back.
Alarmed, his brothers scatter,
The fish brought up to choke.
The Angel flies to sit and watch,
Perched on the Oxen’s yoke.
The fish and spear on a rock are placed,
A stone brought down on its head,
His suffering ended,
Given peace at last instead.
The Angel smiles, for with each moment,
The pain the fish had felt was his,
From his perch his wings he folds,
Aware now of perfect bliss.
The fish is wrapped and stowed away,
The men turn to the Oxen carts,
And into each the Angel looks,
He finds compassion in their hearts.
Each man carries a pointed stick,
Upon which hang, row on row,
Either fish, or meat – on one
He sees the flesh of a doe.
He moves on, upstream,
To where firelight glows,
And more pointed sticks can be seen,
Standing in alert rows.
He sits and watches as men gather round,
And the meat is laid on the fire,
Over sticks and blackened coal,
Laid over the wire.
Laughing, the men hug their wives,
Another good day was had,
The children dance around their feet,
Not one face looks sad.
The angel stands to one side,
Alone and unseen.
He smiles and spreads his wings,
‘pon which the fire casts a golden sheen.
III
Into the air he takes again,
Skimming o’er mountains grey,
Though Night’s cooling, dark embrace,
To Dawn’s purple day.
He sees the splendour of the moon,
Robed in shimmering white,
Surrounded by her tiny maids,
Each shining their own light.
He watches as the day’s first rays
Pierce the fading night,
And a thousand shards of glass
Shimmer like starlight.
He flies low above the grass
And marvels at each one,
A tiny crystal drop
Reflecting the moon and sun.
He sees the golden threads of light
Turn the sky to blue and red,
And watches as the sun stirs,
And raises its golden head.
He skims along frozen lakes,
Inspects a web laden with dew,
Follows the patterns laid down by the frost,
Sees the world laid out anew.
He bids the Moon a fond farewell
As she relinquishes to the Sun,
He basks in his mighty glow,
Until his time is done;
And the Moon rises up once more,
And the Sun sinks to his rest,
While the Angel watches every move,
In that dance eternally blest.
The Sun sinks down into the West,
The Night encroaches once more,
And the Angel, loving both as much,
Speeds the Sun to Morning’s Door.
IV
Now far the Angel speeds onwards,
Into the forest of evergreen,
And watches with eyes rewnewed
As the dawn reveals things unseen.
He revels in the cheery sound
Of the birds greeting the new day,
He gazes into mirky pools,
Where the Beavers begin to play.
He watches where the Foxes hunt
He watches where the Badgers roam,
He watches where the Hares run,
When the hunt calls them home.
He enters into a sunlit glade,
With bluebells under foot,
And the Kestrel lets out a noble cry,
And the Owl a mournful hoot.
He watches how the sunlight's rays
Upon the leaves gently play,
Turning them from green to gold,
At beginning and end of day.
And to the mountains he now flies,
Those tow'ring pillars of stone,
Passing over the grassy plains,
Where the horses are painted roan.
He sees the light play on mountain streams,
The water bouncing and splashing clear,
And the mountain hare combs its ears,
Away from humans, it has no fear.
The Angel revels in these delights,
The mountain and the forests old,
He sees the joy in every leaf,
In every rock he stoops to hold.
V
Now high above the Earth he waits,
High above the earth he flies,
He watches as the seasons change,
As the eagle changes its cries.
He watches as the Spring takes hold,
And flowers rise from the earth,
Nature takes hold again,
And the world widens her girth.
The air is sweet and filled with dew,
Green leaves unfurl and open wide,
And flowers ripen in the sun,
Summer has come to Springtime's side.
Blossom falls from trees high,
The wind is full of seeds blown high,
Apples ripen on the branch,
The season of harvest draws nigh.
The wheat ripens in the field,
The leaves turn brown, red and gold,
The cold air starts to chill,
As Autumn begins to take hold.
Now Winter with his desperate grasp,
Coats the world in a blanket of snow,
And trees are knight with temp'ry crowns,
And spirits are held low.
But Spring comes round again,
Relieves the cold with warmer breeze,
And round the seasons roll again,
From warmest days to the winter freeze.
VI
Now over mountains and valleys he flies,
Over hill and over dale,
Through the forest’s amber glow,
Through the misty morning veil.
He sees the sun break on the hill,
He crests the mountains tall,
He wanders through the leafless wood,
As the snow begins to fall.
The trees stand in silent rows,
Enobled with temporary crowns,
As the Angel walks between the trunks,
Robed in virginal white gowns.
The angel sees the seasons pass,
Winter gives way to Spring,
And as the world begins to thaw,
The angel takes to wing.
Once again the angel flies,
Into the forest’s emerald light,
Where shafts of gold pierce the heart
Of the forest’s imposed night.
And by and by the Angel comes,
To a maiden fast asleep,
And a knight by her side does
Over her his watch keep.
Through the night the two sleep,
Gently wrapped in a loving embrace,
And by and by the moon rises,
Gleaming with a lover’s face.
The maiden in his arms
Stirs with a little moan,
And he draws her closer to him,
Claiming her for his own.
The Angel leaves them to their ways,
Gives them space for their Beltane rite,
But smiles as he sees how soft
Their touch is in the night.
VII
To Harpelstane the Angel flies,,
Where a castle stands tall,
An old oak grows tall and wild
Against the ruined wall.
Against the wall a hill rises,
A green hill topp'd with stone,
The castle stands in ruins,
A perfect Dragon's home.
The sun beats down relentlessly,
Upon the fighter's head,
As he goes to face the dragon-beast,
Who lives there, it is said.
The dragon appeared long ago,
To terrorize the sky.
Fighters have tried to drive it off,
But many of them have died.
The dragon fights with tooth and claw,
And with the strength of four men,
The fighters know it must be killed,
For the citadel to defend.
The dragon takes a mighty toll,
Its hunger for to sate,
Cattle and more than a virgin or two,
And death will be their fate.
A beat of the wings and a loud crack
Sends the creature way up high,
And fire scores the air and earth
As the wings rake the sky.
Its wings are brightest crimson,
Its body orange and gold,
But its eyes are darkest sable,
Eyes as black as its soul.
But the dragon cannot fight in the air,
And so must come to ground,
Where the fighter waits to meet it,
His sword and shield unbound.
The fighter's helm gleams bright in the sun,
On sword and shield fine,
"No longer on cattle and on maids,
Foul beast, will you dine."
"Fool!" Said the beast, "For now you will die,
And rot here in the sun.
I will rid you of your flesh and bone,
`Ere the day is done."
But the fighter he was noble and brave,
And advanced with caution due.
The dragon roared and screamed with pain,
As the fighter's sword it flew.
Now back and forth the battle went,
The Dragon lost its tail,
And from Edzell to the furthest shores,
You could hear the dragon's wail.
Alas, our bravest hope yet,
Did not escape from harm,
For the Dragon for its payment due,
Took the fighter's arm.
Yet still he battled on and on,
This lone fighter brave,
And with the sun sinking low,
Edzell castle he did save.
For as the sun turned to crimson rays,
The fighter saw his chance,
And the dragon roared as the fighter pierced
The dragon heart with his lance.
Now in the ruins of Edzell,
The place which now is free,
In the place where the dragon fell,
There is said to grow a tree.
It branches are old and withered,
And no leaf does it bear,
But if you gaze at it closely,
This you might swear:
That the tree's in the shape of an upside down,
And very withered pair,
Of Dragon's claws snatching upwards,
Pointing towards the air…
And the tree grows at the bottom
Of the green hill topp'd with stone,
That could look like a dragon,
with its head turned into stone.
And the angel watches as this occurs,
In the turning summer air,
And watches each year as the hill moves,
As the dragon stirs in its lair.
For though the fighter brave he pierced
The dragon to its heart,
Dragons have but two of these,
Though weaker the second heart.
So each year now the dragon stirs,
And roars up to the sky,
Then returns back to the green hill tall,
Another year there to lie.
And the citizens of Edzell
Know the tree by the wall,
For each year when the dragon rises,
The claws stir first of all.
VIII
The Angel then know he has seen enough,
And reaches to the sky,
He sees the sun go on its path,
The clouds scudding by.
“I have passed over hill and dale,
I have seen the stars begin to pale,
I have seen the day turn to night,
I have watched as the hunted takes flight.
I have seen the beauty of the earth,
I have spanned the oceans girth,
I have seen life come and seen life go,
I have seen the river of life flow.
I have seen the highest mountain tall,
And seen the cities and kings great hall,
I have heard the tumbling mountain brook,
Have seen into the darkest nook.
I have seen horrors and beauties both,
I have watched the flower’s growth,
I have seen the Dragon dark,
I have heard the morning Lark.
I saw the world with eyes anew –
I saw the mists and mountain dew,
but of all of these, what ranks above,
is that beautiful thing that Humans call ‘Love’.”