THE MEDICINE WOMAN'S TALE 

I

Bygone radiance Clonegal's woods lit,
as sage I gathered in the gloam;
'twas as if there ancient spirits dwelled,
and wights o'er vanished pathways roamed.

No violets there bloomed, nor daffodils,
the village folk it cursed declared;
nightly sobs first as a bairn I heard,
as mam told of Niamh the red-haired.

"A druid sorcerer's fair daughter
her lost love by the well attends;
he does not appear, soon she despairs,
keening, her way thro' the haze wends."

Gravid silences o'er the holt hung,
distant bells' silver pealing spurned;
release it implored with voiceless sobs, 
foregone secrets to reveal yearned.

A lass of seventeen Springs was I,
with courage and discernment blessed;
this cheerless bounty my care inspired,
to her my proffer I addressed.

"I, a medicine woman's daughter,
no learning have, nor arcane pow'rs;
sole mother's restoring crafts I ply,
man heal with roots, herbs and flow'rs."

"What would I of your suffering know
or what blight your Spring lushness ails?
To your woes would I glad lend an ear;
tell me, pray, your sorrowful tales."

II

Worlds past from the twilit air emerged,
'twas as if time itself stood still;
'mid skeletal trees an altar rose,
solemn chanting the night air filled.

By a great fire, in hooded robe clad, 
golden band 'pon his learned brow,
a druid priest the stone altar blessed,
with ivy vines and oaken bough.

'Twas then that memories rushing came
of whispered myths in childhood heard,
of those that all Nature's wisdom owned,
as rhythms of man, beast and bird.

At a stroke, shrouds of mist they'd conjure,
roaring blazes ignite at will,
spate of red cause from Heaven to fall,
man's life blood in oblations spill.

In a flame-lit nook by the yew walk,
a pale young man quivering stood,
sigils 'pon his face, hands with ropes bound,
hapless, in the shimmering wood.

Trembling, from behind a yew I peeked, 
for this strange ritual to view,
afeared of all that was to unfold,
as olden Autumn breezes blew.

This lad two priests to the altar led,
his feeble form atop it laid;
for their mighty Gods a mate to grant,
beauteous youth in its prime they slayed.

Crimson the grieving earth bespattered,
as the skies frosted blossoms rained;
the gathered to their abode returned,
as my teardrops the yew bark stained.

By and by, a copper-haired beauty
'long the yew walk trudging came;
the blood altar she quaking approached,
anguished, shrieked her beloved's name.

Niamh's tears 'pon her snowy numbness froze,
her dearest dream now broken lay;
his inmost light to the unknown gone,
sole death to him would carve the way.

Resolved, to the Druid Well she strode,
her final breaths drew long and deep;
hopes of reunion its embrace held,
of love's bliss in eternal sleep.

A painless farewell to life she bade, 
her white robes o'er joy's ruins draped,
ere into black depths her frame she cast,
a scream my frozen lips escaped.

My leafy shelter I abandoned,
this distraught lass to comfort sought;
alas, a mere phantasm was she,
diffuse echoes dispersed to naught.

III

'Pon verdant velvet I weeping sank,
awash in twilight's violet glow,
"Is't for blighted hearts your greenness bleeds?
Is there aught else you'd have me know?"

O'er the wind the sacred oak whispered,
its laden branches earthward bent,
"No God a mortal spouse would desire,
'tis true love's fate the woods lament".

"Nature's creatures druid priests slaughtered,
our kin they pitiless impaled;
as in waking dreams, their souls wander
by eternal darkness assailed."

"Horrors of centuries past their words
'pon yew, oak and willow inscribe;
their gloom leaves bear to the Great Below,
where waters their dolour imbibe."

"Free us, dear child of Earth untainted,
of this torment o'er ages borne;
sole the purest heart this air could heal,
homeward guide these spirits forlorn."

That this sage giant my aid should seek!
Great doubt my being overcame,
for how was a mere lass to conceive 
a course lost quietude to reclaim?

At dawn to return I solemn pledged,
counsel to ask of our wise seer;
fear to faith yielded, my boldness grew,
her sanguine prophecy to hear.

Dried sage in the woods she bade me burn,
fumes into its leaden air strew;
garlands of heather 'pon branches hang,
for hope and healing to renew.

Each dawn and dusk in the hilltop shrine,
for Goddess Brigid's grace I prayed;
hymns to Airmead and Branwen chanted,
as the grove to sweet refrains swayed.

Dark voices o'er the years brighter grew,
the sombre air now lighter breathed;
troubled souls to the beyond journeyed,
as Airmead pangs of yearning eased.

Last Spring, violets to the grove returned,
drifts of daffodils blissful waved;
of crystal gold the forest drank deep,
wing-ed posies the yew walk paved.

Thence, peace in Clonegal's woods prevails,
now bairns 'pon their grassy spreads play;
this sacred mission my life made whole,
Nature's will shall I heed
till my dying day.

© 2014 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: www.liveinternet.ru
Artist: Arthur Hughes