Post by Ennui on Apr 23, 2005 6:15:43 GMT -5
A BRETON SONG
Written for round three of the 667 Factor.
I sing of the voice at the gull’s wings
Where the mist is a string and the sea is a hall.
They say half an eye sighted Britain from here
And Britain sighed back to Bretagne.
A cripple is limping. His lip has been crushed
And spittle mars an unripe voice
“I am the Fool of Llefelys Hall
I tell of things wood-mad...”
He rasps of a rider upon a dun horse
The Master of a ruined land
His clan and kith splayed corpses
Or chained. Too late he comes:
“O, I am the Master of Llefelys Hall
I had a true love to me.”
“Where is Fenys of marble flesh
Where is Fenys of gleaming eyes?
While the King of Norway holds my wealth
My honour and my house.
They took not you, be sure, my love-
I have a fairy-pact.”
The wood-mad King of the wood-mad folk
Who cling to the bark and garden the bracken
Laughed a long, pale fairy laugh
“We have kept Fenys safe from thy foes
Yet the price is still to be paid.
I’ve taken a liking to your slender bride...
Tonight my court will canter north.”
Then chilled grows the Master of Llefelys Hall.
“Without you”-he hurls his fresh spear
And the Fairy Prince is grey with fright
“Alas! The Christian has done for me.
Neither peace nor love shall he gain.
Rile the horses of the ferns
Make ready the reins,
Let the mist birth six thousand colts.”
The Master was quicker-unflinching, he spurred
Assailing the Sidhe with iron, their bane
But four and a score thousands of hooves
Made their assembly in the fog;
Leaving but three behind.
For here is found the wood-mad King
And here she they both loved.
The blood of Fenys stains the grass
And dries upon the Master’s sword.
I sing of the voice at the gull’s wings
Where the mist is a string and the sea is a hall.
They say half an eye sighted Britain from here
And Britain sighed back to Bretagne.
Written for round three of the 667 Factor.
I sing of the voice at the gull’s wings
Where the mist is a string and the sea is a hall.
They say half an eye sighted Britain from here
And Britain sighed back to Bretagne.
A cripple is limping. His lip has been crushed
And spittle mars an unripe voice
“I am the Fool of Llefelys Hall
I tell of things wood-mad...”
He rasps of a rider upon a dun horse
The Master of a ruined land
His clan and kith splayed corpses
Or chained. Too late he comes:
“O, I am the Master of Llefelys Hall
I had a true love to me.”
“Where is Fenys of marble flesh
Where is Fenys of gleaming eyes?
While the King of Norway holds my wealth
My honour and my house.
They took not you, be sure, my love-
I have a fairy-pact.”
The wood-mad King of the wood-mad folk
Who cling to the bark and garden the bracken
Laughed a long, pale fairy laugh
“We have kept Fenys safe from thy foes
Yet the price is still to be paid.
I’ve taken a liking to your slender bride...
Tonight my court will canter north.”
Then chilled grows the Master of Llefelys Hall.
“Without you”-he hurls his fresh spear
And the Fairy Prince is grey with fright
“Alas! The Christian has done for me.
Neither peace nor love shall he gain.
Rile the horses of the ferns
Make ready the reins,
Let the mist birth six thousand colts.”
The Master was quicker-unflinching, he spurred
Assailing the Sidhe with iron, their bane
But four and a score thousands of hooves
Made their assembly in the fog;
Leaving but three behind.
For here is found the wood-mad King
And here she they both loved.
The blood of Fenys stains the grass
And dries upon the Master’s sword.
I sing of the voice at the gull’s wings
Where the mist is a string and the sea is a hall.
They say half an eye sighted Britain from here
And Britain sighed back to Bretagne.
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