Ancient Lands

This was inspired by Dave Allen's recent postings. Dreaming the green grass of Ireland and for the sake of Celtic Revival, the poetic duo Catchabula-Salima presents:


The Ballad of Brynn Mawhr.

Fierce as the howling of the wind,
Loud as the roaring of the sea,
Old as the rock that is the land,
These irish tales forever stand,
As cold and harsh as wind and sea,
Sad tales of pride and destiny.

Near the castle of Brynn Mawhr,
That ruined stead of noble kings,
Once lived a maiden young and fair
With eyes as green as yonder tree,
Her locks a crown of shining gold,
Or so in ancient tales is told.

The king was far and far his knights,
Long gone the kingly might of yore.
The land was plundered by a foe
Of nordish race, most evil brute,
Who cruelly ravished Erin's shore,
Near the castle of Brynn Mawhr.

Butchered, burned the village where
This maiden lived in peaceful bliss.
Her parents slain by devil's hand,
Towards the highest rock she ran,

Untill she stood for the abyss,
And couldn't flee no more.

The wicked captain stretched a hand
Towards that fairest of the land.
She sang a song with golden voice,
And spoke a word that was not heard
Upon that coast a thousand years.
Then leapt to death amidst her tears
To be the bride of rock and sea,
Their bride she will forever be.

The fate of those who dared to lust
Upon that fairest of the land
Was never told to mortal ears,
But in the waves that pound the shore
Can still be heard the magic word,
Can still be heard the song of yore,

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