1. |
||||
2. |
The Song Of Amergin
02:03
|
|||
The Song of Amergin II
I am the stag of the seven tines;
I am the bull of the seven battles;
I am the boar of the seven bristles;
I am the wide flood cresting plains;
I am the wind sweeping deep waters;
I am the salmon swimming in the shallow pool;
I am the dewdrop lit by the sun;
I am the fairest of flowers;
I am the crystalline fountain;
I am the hawk shrieking after its prey;
I am the demon ablaze in the campfire ashes;
I am the battle-waging spearhead;
I am the vale echoing voices;
I am the sea's roar;
I am the rising sea wave;
Who else knows the ages of the moon?
Who else knows where the sunset settles?
Who else knows the secrets of the unhewn dolmen?
|
||||
3. |
|
|||
The Lords of Light,Newgrange
Before metal seeped
from slag or crucible,
When night-light was rush
Fired in tallow
Or fear-scarred moon,
This was raised.
Megalithic hoarder of secrets;
Its piling, reverberant
On the incus of race,
Tells of hirsute forebears
Grimed in sweat,
And grunt sounding the tally
Of scavenged stones.
Who cyphered these great stones
Saw their geometry spiral
To amaze posterity,
Shunned all approximations
To engender the dense
Precision of their art,
Craving each moon’s connivance,
The punctuality of suns.
|
||||
4. |
||||
A Solstice Ceremony For Yule
Since the beginning of time, we have gathered in this season to celebrate the rebirth of the Sun.
On the Winter Solstice, the darkest of nights,
The Goddess becomes the Great Mother and once again
gives birth to the Sun and the new yearly cycle,
Bringing new light and hope to all on Earth.
On the longest night of winter,
and the dark night of our souls,
there springs the new spark of hope,
the Sacred Fire,
the Light of the World.
We gather tonight to await the new light.
On this night, the Maiden, who is also Mother
and Crone, prepares to welcome the Sun.
Let's now prepare to welcome the new light within
I light this fire in your honour Mother Goddess
You have created life from death, warmth from cold
The Sun lives once again, the time of light is waxing.
We invite you, Great Mother, to our circle
Bring us new light, the light of your glorious Son."
"I come to you as Maiden
Young and free, fresh as springtime
Yet within me a yearning stirs to create and share
and so I become...
The Mother
I bring forth the fruit of my creativity
Yet an ancient prophet once told me, as I stood with my son,
A sword shall pierce through thy own heart also
And I knew that I must become
The Crone
The ancient wise one, Lady of Darkness
We three - in - one who brought forth that special child
as long ago, also anointed him for burial-
A bright light that grew and was sacrificed to be reborn
as a new light."
"Ancient God of the forest, we welcome you
Return from the shadows, O Lord of Light.
The wheel has turned. We call you back to warm us.
Great God of the Sun
I welcome your return
May you shine brightly upon the Earth."
~Consecration of the Yule Log
"Yule is the end of the old solar year and the beginning
of the new one. Traditionally, the end of the year is a time
to look back and reflect. It is a time to look ahead
to the future, to make plans and set goals."
On your piece of paper, write something you hope to accomplish during the coming year. When you are finished, attach the slip of paper to the Yule
"We toast the new year (sprinkles wine on the log) and in token
of its promise, we consecrate this sacred wood as a focus for the
energies through which we accomplish our tasks and manifest our
desires during the coming cycle."
"You who have died are now reborn. Lend us your light through
the winter months as we await the spring. Let us now light the Yule Log.
Once having burned with the Yule fire, these candles will contain the luck
of the log throughout the coming year."
|
||||
5. |
Danu
05:33
|
|||
DANU
In the merry berried night
In the last of the light
Carried in a raven winged bowl
All the world in dusky darkness while DANU flows through
Clippity clippity cloven clop
Faery folk grassy and talismanic
Hold blessed candles tied by wick
Swing and sing on Danu's tunic
Tales of amber holy stones
Rolling around their minds
Long sagas of insect chirping
Sounding up the elemental colony
Clippity clippity cloven clop
All air earth goddess sweetened Danu's love
Divine one breathes out
All breathe Maiden Mother Baby Crone
Wisdom interlocked
All breathe in the astral light
Ravens beaking the light to flight
Blended rising cosmic chants
Votive smoke black mark the stars
Clouds paint a lightning mask
Danu in sidhe (shee) invocation
Replenishing the atmosphere
Waxing Full Waning
Tuatha de Dannan throw their torcs to the aura
DANU still alive in yesterday's shadow
In the seeds of tomorrow 's growth
In the eyes of the wolf birthing
Engulfed in soil reincarnation
Everything flowers as Danu
As every Bain's cord combed from the plaits of Danu
Trees ..the eye of Danu sees from beneath its bark
The landscape in its ritual winds
Leafs of compassion Danu
Fall as pentacles
On the raising faery footed dust
Pastel incandescence surrounds this omnipresent tribe
As last light carried
Flickers the face of Lugh
Gargan-tuan hammers
Alchemical tongs thither
Beat for their celestial travel
Clippity clippity cloven clop
On the revered swaying anvil an abstraction of Danu
On any reflective surface the first sight seen
Before our own Danu
Clippity clippity cloven clop
The hope of wet wood burning
Dirt on our hands from fresh potato Danu
Her healing enfolds our senses
Quells the mortal fear of death
Following Danu
Her track raven footed crow stepping
It is the seeing of the owl
Is the pawed knotted straw throw
The wash of divine free salmon roe
Clippity clippity cloven clop
The earth spins from behind her back
Her radiant hand does the spinning
The last light dancing now
Goddess flaming
Miming gold on the ashe
Fire glazes her glowing
Clan in hypnotic smoldering light
Earth mother is ancient triad
Is triple goddess
Danu opens her arms and she beams
Beams cascading the slumbered valleys
All hearthstones draped in her beams
Display her bestowal of light
Inflorescence of her devotional axis
Clippity clippity cloven clop
The omniscient mare moon full
Births her hallowed aurora foal
Soil begins to warm the pagan soul
Tepid still blood flushed alive
This morning ocean in fish eyed wonder
As it be on every tide
From Lag na Sionna
The sacred Shannon mixing far into the deeps
Swirling
Uncovers a salt idol of Danu
Every new day
DANU
Clippity clippity cloven clop
|
||||
6. |
The Battle Of The Trees
04:50
|
|||
8. The Battle Of The Trees
The tops of the beech tree have sprouted of late,
are changed and renewed from their withered state.
When the beech prospers, though spells and litanies
the oak tops entangle, there is hope for trees.
I have plundered the fern, through all secrets I spy,
Old Math ap Mathonwy knew no more than I.
For with nine sorts of faculty gifted onto me,
I am fruit of fruits gathered from nine sorts of tree —
Plum, quince, whortle, mulberry, respberry, pear,
black cherry and white, with the sorb in me share.
From my seat at Fefynedd, a land that is strong,
I watched the trees and green things hastening along.
Retreating from happiness they would fein be set
in forms of the chief letters of the alphabet.
Wayfarers wandered, warriors were dismayed
at renewal of conflicts such as Gwydion made;
Under the tongue root a fight most dread,
and another raging, behind, in the head.
The alders in the front line began the affray.
Willow and rowan-tree were tardy in array.
The holly, dark green, made a resolute stand;
he is armed with many spear-points wounding the hand.
With foot-beat of the swift oak heaven and earth rung;
"Stout Guardian of the Door", his name in every tongue.
Great was the gorse in battle, and the ivy at his prime;
the hazel was arbiter and this charmed time.
Uncouth and savage was the fir, cruel the ash tree —
turns not aside a foot-breadth, straight at the heart runs he.
The birch, though very noble, armed himself but late:
a sign not of cowardice but of high estate.
The heath gave consolation to the toil-spent folk,
the long-enduring poplars in battle much broke.
Some of them were cast away on the field of fight
because of holes torn in them by the enemy's might.
Very wrathful was the vine whose henchmen are the elms;
I exalt him mightily to rulers of realms.
Strong chieftains were the blackthorn with his ill fruit,
the unbeloved whitethorn who wears the same suit.
The swift-pursuing reed, the broom with his brood,
and the furse but ill-behaved until he is subdued.
The dower-scattering yew stood glum at the fight's fringe,
with the elder slow to burn amid fires that singe.
And the blessed wild apple laughing in pride
from the Gorchan of Maeldrew, by the rock side.
In shelter linger privet and woodbine,
inexperienced in warfare, and the courtly pine.
But I, although slighted because I was not big,
Fought, trees, in your array on the field of Goddeu Brig.
|
||||
7. |
The Circle And The Flame
03:42
|
|||
The Circle and the Flame
The Circle and the Flame for Imbolc
Wolf moon rises, broken promises
are healed and the feast begins:
as they say, “in the belly”,
the wintry light is pregnant
with Summer’s milk and flowers;
ewes’ udders waken light
and all the wights delight;
Tribe and Land, language and rocks,
meet in the circle of this flame:
the bones of earth, elemental nooks
of all the circle’s measure
hold the ancient tribes in bondage
to the laws of fealty;
knowledge of this old way
begins in words borne of valor:
deeds of ancient warriors dying
for the people of the Land;
remembrance of this light,
the women show their troth
sewing banners of the woolen cloth
with twisted threads of memory
to hold the thoughts of poets strong;
spider, asp, and wasp; thistle, gorse, and nettle:
all children of the goddess lands:
keepers of its mysteries;
Niall of the Nine Hostages knows this truth:
the Old Crone cast her eye upon him,
and he recognized the green spark of goddess tears;
the center holds, the Bilious, the World Tree:
golden leaves waving above
gathers the tribes into the inner circle;
so in the dead month, under the wolf moon
we celebrate in feasting,
when raven’s nest and lark’s sing,
and rain brings lambs to birth;
for then the Old Woman of the year,
Cailleach, rises with her white wand,
a bride of spring, breathing power
into the Winter King, releasing him
from his dour sleep of harsh snow,
while serpent lords scatter
to the four winds of time,
knowing their time is at an end;
then the “Exalted One”, Brigid,
golden haired, encircled by children
comes among her people
to celebrate the Feast of Imbolc!
|
||||
8. |
||||
The Tale of the Vulnerable
The line at the beginning
Of the old tale comes from the lips
Of the beggar king as he waits
In the doorway of old myth,
His crown beside him is all rusted and worn.
The day breathes a sadness and
A wonder that only children of old know.
The rhythm of footsteps holds the march
Of men who trampled on the wildflowers
Of spring but, among the sounds, a bell rings so quietly.
She is there;
She is there with eyes of love that humility tempers.
Prayers are made with each footstep.
Mantras are chanted by the smile that leaves the lips.
Surrender is a storm that never comes
And the cracks in the sidewalk are the tunes
For the ballads that keep getting sung in glens
Where the desolate houses still breathe.
Off and away the farmer is walking
His dog to oblivion
As the rosary of existence
Is said by the hands of the last fires.
What will the tale be when the old man
Of the mountains passes silently into the mist?
Who will hold the soft hands of the ancient knowledge
When the alarm of emptiness rings above the city’s sorrow?
Tragic days without rain
I want to tell you the new tale but my heart
Does not know the way to the pass where innocence resides.
Tell me how to whisper to the king so I might
Show him where to drink from the well that renews.
Show me how to meet
The soft doe of the woods so that I might
Run with the warrior and stand with the woman
Who rules the city where the crystal guards the threshold.
Tell me how to live with the ancient son whose tribe
Knew how to preserve the gentle star at the end of the world
For only now do I know what the beggar king tells with his eyes.
|
||||
9. |
The Púca
03:34
|
|||
The Púca
The midnight hammer strikes its mark
the belfrys tone relayed.
This night has been disrupted
in its echoing serenade.
A gloom fills this midnight hour
with each resounding strain,
evil dreams are brought to life
as the Púca marks his claim.
Beyond the town on a wooded hill
prancing in eager delight,
Demon nostrils, flare and blow,
hooves hammering with a spite.
Tossing head and ruffled mane,
his purpose sets to a run.
No longer can he refrain
to draw out the chosen one.
He charges ever forward
blazoned eyes are gleaming,
his coat black as shadow
behind his tail is streaming.
Eerlong to arrive at the chosen home,
calls out his victims name.
No one can refuse a Púca’s call,
or an evil curse remains?
The family wishes the fated one well
as they send him out the door
mounts this horse without a saddle,
a ride he must endure.
This Demon suddenly bolts away
frantically around boulder and tree,
the rider screams, for all seems lost
as the horse runs madly free.
He tells him of his personal fate.
Reveals his future to the riders dismay,
of his scheming friends, who wheel and deal
and of loved ones who will pass away.
He reveals the graves where all will lay
and you will lie over here.
The horse vaults his rear in the air
and flings the rider clear.
Miles from home and full of fear
as he stumbles from his midnight ride.
Then the Púca leers back with blazon eyes,
time is on his side.
|
||||
10. |
||||
The Swans of the Great Lake
Swans once lived in the washbowl of the Great Lake
From them, it is told, humans have descended.
And every spring the people would go to the shore
to greet the arrival of their good winged ancestors with white steaming milk.
This was long ago, it is told.
So long ago, that it has turned into a fairy tale.
But people have learned to hate one another…
They cannot manage to share watering places and land.
And he that has more sheep considers himself happy.
And the white swans would circle in the sky,
not understanding why in the spring no one meets them with white steaming milk.
But one day a certain curious boy found out about his swan ancestry.
He lifted his eyes to the sky in astonishment.
To the empy sky, there were only huge steel birds
sinking into the expanse with a roar, silent and sad…
He trudged to the Great Lake in search of the white birds.
He didn’t notice he had circled half the world.
But he had found no swans.
So he sat on the hot asphalt and began to cry-
The boy had grown old.
Squint your eyes into slits,
like the mark left by the Mongolian saber,
Absorbing the essence of earthy time from the sea of eternity drop by drop
Why did the neighing avalanche sweep through…
Trampling down the gardens, the fields?
The century of super-epic speeds descends upon the steppe like daybreak.
And punishment for the galloping of the horses, lasting too long.
And for the flash of the swords, blind and raging.
I recover my sight in the cities
Where signs of the Gobi desert appear indistinctly.
And I pass judgement upon the new times according to Europe, covered in birch.
I hear the roots act as shaman,
and I hear the rustle of the leaves,
and the consciousness of a higher kinship
Drowns out the voice of my blood
|
||||
11. |
||||
The Harp of Cnoc I'Chosgair
Harp of Cnoc I'Chosgair, you who bring sleep
to eyes long sleepless;
sweet subtle, plangent, glad, cooling grave.
Excellent instrument with smooth gentle curve,
trilling under red fingers,
musician that has charmed us,
red, lion-like of full melody.
You who lure the bird from the flock,
you who refresh the mind,
brown spotted one of sweet words,
ardent, wondrous, passionate.
You who heal every wounded warrior,
joy and allurement to women,
familiar guide over the dark blue water,
mystic sweet sounding music.
You who silence every instrument of music,
yourself a sweet plaintive instrument,
dweller among the Race of Conn,
instrument yellow-brown and firm.
The one darling of sages,
restless, smooth, sweet of tune,
crimson star above the Fairy Hills,
breast jewel of High Kings.
Sweet tender flowers, brown harp of Diarmaid,
shape not unloved by hosts, voice of cuckoos in May!
I have not heard music ever such as your frame makes
since the time of the Fairy People,
fair brown many coloured bough,
gentle, powerful, glorious.
Sound of the calm wave on the beach,
pure shadowing tree of pure music,
carousals are drunk in your company,
voice of the swan over shining streams.
Cry of the Fairy Women from the Fairy Hill of Ler,
no melody can match you,
every house is sweet stringed through your guidance,
you the pinnacle of harp music.
|
||||
12. |
Ogham Charms
04:35
|
|||
OakWyse utters Ogham Charms
Beginning of Birch, to lead the way,
Magic of Rowan, this charm to say,
Protection of Alder, in the deep,
Passage of Willow in dream of sleep;
Integration of Ash between the worlds,
And so the Ogham Charm unfurls.
“Chastity of Hawthorn, purging well,
Door of Oak, where many dwell,
Balance of Holly, in battle strong,
Wisdom of Hazel, Salmon-song;
Apple’s Choice, abundance brings,
As this Charm of Ogham sings.
“Intuition gives the Vine,
While Ivy’s Spirals intertwine;
Cleansing Broom sweeps spirits clean,
For Fate of Blackthorn to be seen;
Renewal of Elder turns aside
All that may with Death abide.
“Vision of Fir is true and tall,
And Gorse now sweetly Gathers all;
Healing Heather, grounding fast,
Aspen warding, Shields at last;_
Yew Eternity portends,
Though this Charm of Ogham ends.
“Community of Grove instructs all hearts,
Delight of Spindle, insight imparts;
Secret of Honeysuckle guards the way,
Where ancient Knowledge of Beech holds sway;
The power of this Charm shall be
As Vast and endless as the Sea
|
Streaming and Download help
If you like Gangani,Come To The Path, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp