Green Book Of Meditations Volume 6 The Books of Songs - Student ...

Green Book 

Of Meditations 

Volume 6 

The Books of Songs 

and Poetry 

of the RDNA 

2003 Introduction 

Well, after noticing how many songs and poems were 

accumulating in various files for this edition, I thought it 

best to try and combine all of them into one easy to refer 

collection. Vol Zero is from Pt. 7 of ARDA 1, which is a 

collection from the Druid Chronicles (Evolved) and Vol. 1 

& 2 were from Pt. 9 of ARDA, and were from the last years 

of my Archdruidcy at Carleton. Vol. 3 is a compilation of 

songs that were popular in the Carleton Grove’s folksinging 

society “Pickin N Grinnin” in the mid 1990s. Vol 4 has 

songs from the Live Oak Grove’s publication “Druid 

Missalany” in the 80s. Vol. 5 are some songs from the late 

90s. Vol. 6 & 7 are from the internet Bardic contests run 

by RDNAtalk@yahoogroups.com that I moderated. Vol. 8 

is a shorty story by Irony, written in the Kingdom of Tonga 

during a Peace Corps deployment. 

Enjoy them. 

Mike Scharding 

Feb 24 th , 2003 

Embassy of Japan 

Drynemetum Press 

315

Introduction 

Table of Contents 

Table of Contents 

Introductory Materials - 315 

Volume Zero 1976 

Book of the Bards - 319 



Processional Hymn 

Do We With Songs and Rejoicing 

The Lady’s Bransle 

The Host is Riding 

Oimelc Hymn 

The Rune of Hospitality 

Will Ye No Come Back Again? 

May Their Devil Take the Preachers 

Hymn to Hurry the Return of Spring 

Midsummer: The Turning of the Year 

Thanksgiving Grace 

The Falling Asleep of the Mother of Gods 

The 13 Days of Samhain 

The Woad Song 

The Gods of the West 

The Mystery 

Pagans Are We 

Be Pagan Once Again! 

A Celebration of Summer 

The Lord of the Dance 

I Fell In Love With the Lady 

She Was Here 

The Rising of the Druid Moon 

Volume One, 1993 

Mike’s Poetry - 327 


Samhain Procession Hymn 

The Triples Song 

Moon Chant 

The Caring Song 

We All Come From the Goddess 

This is My Song 

Fur and Feathers 

Hymn to the Russian Earth 

Circle Chant 

Song of the Earth-Mother 

Eagle Chant 

Dawning Chant 

Morning Prayer 

Circles Song 

Oimelc Song for Brigit 

Oimelc Silly Song of Brigit 

The Thirteen Fold Mystery 

Chant to the Earth Mother 

The Old Bard 

The Desert 

Night’s Things 

316 

Night’s Things Revisited 

The Four 

The Dead Ghost 

Two Welsh Triads 

Three Things I Won’t Tell 

A Winter’s Poem for Heather 

The Sweat Lodge 

A Vision 

Return to the Lodge 

The Camel 

The Prairie Fire 

The Search 

Sonnet 1: The Would-be Bard 

The White Jewel 

Sine Ceolbhinn 

To Jean Sweetmusic 

A Poem to my Harp 

Volume Two 1994 

Friends of 

the Earth-Mother - 334 


Dark Clouds 

The Comet 

The Cruelest Joke 

The Friend of the RDNA 


When I Grow Up 

A Handprint 

Dancing Winds 

Silverton 

The Rock 

Silence 

The End of Mother Nature 

HUE 

Mother Superior 

Untitled 

From Ben Nevis 

The Hill of Three Oaks 

Salutations 

Wood Carving 

Someone Said My Name 

Volume Three 1999 

Words from the Bards - 338 


Sir Gilbert De Veere 

Sounds of Silence 

The Earth is My Mother 

Honor the Earth 

Now is the Cool of the Day 

Solar Carol 

Prayer of St. Francis 

Old Time Religion 

Teach Your Children 

Catch the Wind 

God Bless the Moon 

Morning Has Broken 

The Sound of Music

Nowhere Man 

Here Comes the Sun 

May There Always be Sunshine 

Hymn for the Russian Earth 

I Circle Around 

We Are the Flow 

Turning Toward the Morning 

Weave Me the Sunshine 

River 

Today 

Turn, Turn, Turn 

The Brandy Tree 

What a Wonderful World 

Lord of the Dance 

Simple Gifts 


Circles 

The Rainbow Connection 

You Bash the Balrog 

The Rattling Bog 

Burden of the Crown 

What is Courage Now? ------------------------346 

Rocky Mountain High 

Boy of the Country 

Spirit 

Wind Song 

Blowing in the Wind 

Don’t Think Twice 

Mr. Tambourine Man 

Too Much of Nothing 

Watching the River Flow 

With God on Our Side 

A Hard Rain’s Going to Fall 

Bob Dylan’s Dream 

Box of Rain 

Rosemary 

Death is a Door 

St. Stephen 

Uncle John’s Band 

Mountains on the Moon 

GIANT 

Field Behind the Plow 

Delivery Delayed 

Mary Ellen Carter 

Witch of the West Moreland 

Volume Four 1999 

Older Selections 

Old NRDNA Magazines - 354 

An Invocation Poem 

O Danny Boy 

The Lair of Great Cthulu 

HUNTRESS 

Winter 

Goddess Gift 

Winter’s Ending 

Lament of the Witch 

Oimelc Hymn 

Oimelc Blessing 

Oimelc Poem 

317 

Let it All Happen 

Goddesses, Goddesses 

Love is Lord of All 

Let the Spirit Come to You 

We Are One Family 

Lughnasadh Dance 

Selections from the Missal-Any - 358 

Erec, Erec, Erec 

Vehicle Chant 

Mount Cua 

Hymn to the Three Brighids 

Druid’s Chant 

Beannachadh Brathain 

Quern Blessing 

Ogma Incantation 

Deidre Remembers a Scottish Glen 

May-Time 

Suibhne Wild Man in the Forest 

Stock Market Crash 

Mad Sweeney News 

Furniture Rune 

Cry of the Hobbit 

Hatching Blessing 

To the Sun 

Cairoll Callaig 

Hogmanay Carol 

Calluinn a Bhuilg 

Hogmanay of the Sack 

Eolas an Deididh 

Swift Chariots 

Beltaine Fire Invocation 

Emmon the Fildih 

Give me a Hidden Rill 

To Display Our Magic 

Dearest Vivian 

Bootlegged Concert 

Samhain Vigil Song 

The New Moon 

A Ghealach Ur 

Selections from Emmon - 366 

The Mountain 

October 

To My Teacher 

The Fairy Luring Song 

A Phiuthrag ‘s a phiuthar 

Clach Mhin Mheallain 

Furich an Diugh 

Oidhche ‘n Fhoghar 

Lughnasadh Night 

An Coineachan 

Mo Bhata, Boat Song 

Talking With Trees 

Mountain Streams 

Poems of the Season - 369 

Solstice 

Nights of Winter 

Walk Amongst the Trees

Volume Five 2002 

Recent Songs 


Irony’s Druidic Verses - 370 

Sands of Time 

Hypnosis 

The Spring 

The Pilgrim’s Lament 

Untitled 

Solitude 

On Wind Driven Raindrops 

Poems from Footprints 

Upper Arb, Spring 98 

MerriBeth’s Druidical Poetry - 372 

Sand Dreams 

Musings in a Colorado Hotel 

Northeast Stone 

The Storm 

Untitled 

Walking with Dad 

The Dance 

Circle Building 

Untitled 

Untitled 

Mississippi Mud 

The Poems of Chris - 374 

Something to Look Forward To 

Untitled for Obvious Reasons 

The Poems of Brad - 374 

The Seven Precepts of Merlin 

The Gorsedd Prayer 

Stolen Child 

The Poems of Corwin - 375 

Utter Blackness 

Bear Me Up, O World 

Infinity, in an Open Plain 

Spent 

Transcendence 

Odd Selection of Current Works - 376 

One 

The Wood Song 

Dalon’s Daily Ditty 

The Existential Moment 

13 Fold Incantation 

Yankee Doodle Druid 

Blessing 

The Chronicle and the Ballad 

of the Death of Dalon Ap Landu - 378 

The Druid Prayer: Deep Peace 

Land, Sea & Sky 

Tall Trees 

Rhiannon’s Songs - 380 

318 

People of the Oak 

Flame Within 

Walk With Wisdom 

Invocation to Manawyddan 

Triad Invocations 

Honoring Mother Earth 

Mike’s Selections 

The Duty of the Heights 

The Well 

I Got the Feel of You With My Feet 

My Village Tonight 

Love’s Colors 

Dathach a’Ghraidh 

A January Day 

The Hard Bend 

Volume Six 2002 

2001-2002 Bardic Contest - 384 

2003 Introduction, Rules & Winner 

Love Oghams on the Stones 

The Druid’s Lament 

Only Yew! 

Sitting on the Hill of Three Oaks 

Back in the Old Grove Again 

While My Bagpipe Loudly Wails 

Old Druid’s Hill 

Dreams 

Haiku Corner 

The Existential Moment 

Yule-time Caroling 

Pondering Celtic Clans 

Untitled 

I Told the Arch-Druid 

If I Had a Rich Grove 

Grief Stricken America 

I’m a Believer 

Silbury Hill 

Och, Baby, Baby, Yee’re’n Cannie Bard 

Incipit Gestis Rudolphi Rangifer Tarandus 

Hrodulf the Red-Nosed Reindeer 

AMERICA ---------------------------------------------- 392 

The Land of the Rising Sun 

Bard Arm 

Solitary Druid 

Only a Faery Song 

Fairyland City 

The Work of the Wee-Folk 

Killing Us Softly With His Rules 

The Ways, We are Reforming 

Romantic Songs for your Deity 

Celtic Goddess Chant 

R.D.N.A. 

Here We Are 

I am a Man of Constant Borrow 

Spring Time is on the Rise 

Don’t Scry Out Loud 

Why Do Fools Join My Grove? 

Are You Sleeping? 

Are You Sleeping Tonight? 

I Can’t Help Falling Asleep at Night 

May (in Minnesota) 

Mother Earth

Volume Seven 2003 

2002-2003 Bardic Contest - 400 

2003 Introduction, Rules & Winner 

Unpronounceable Deity Chant 

I Will Survive 

Mabon 

Wild One 

Samhain 

Knockin’ On Samhain’s Door 

The Fallen Kelt 

I am the Very Model of a Modern ADF Druid 

A Million to One 

They Call Me Fluid Druid 

Reformed Druids 

I Am 

Healing 

The Netherworld 

Winter Window 

Minnesota 

Missionary’s Song 

My Wishy Washy Faith 

Achy Breaky Heart Line-Dance 

Earth Goddess 

Under the Dolmen 

Solstice Song 

I’ve Got Friends in Stone Circles 

Friends in Stone Circles Line-Dance 

I’m Gonna Start a Grove 

One is the Loneliest Deity 

Like a Vigil 

Brigit Goldenhair 

Nobody Does it Simpler 

Crazy for You 

Bloodletting of War 

Ode to the RDNA Anthology 

Strong Yet Lost 

Secular Teaching 

My Lady 

Chalk upon her Hands 

Sister Druid 

Vigiler’s Song 

Liturgy 

R-E-F-O-R-M-E-D 

Bible Belt Blues 

Something to Look Forward To 

Untitled For Obvious Reasons 

Gods Bless America 

God Out of Politics 

Have Yourself A Bonny Blithe Beltane 

I Can’t Get No Ordination 

Dalon Ap Landu 

The Hidden Heart 

The Fire of the Soul 

Queen of the Night 

Spiral Dancers 

It’s Ostara’s Whole 

Beltane Spell 

Volume Eight 2003 

The Soul of Juliana Spring - 419 

319 

The Book of Songs 

and Poetry 

Volume Zero 1976 

The Book of Bards 

Formerly Miscellany in DC(E,) 

Part 7 in ARDA 


I moved this book from Part 7, in order to better consolidate all 

the scattered poetry in the new edition of ARDA. 

-Mike Scharding 

Feb 1, 2003 

Embassy of Japan, D.C. 


Of all the selections in the Miscellany, this is the one that has 

been added to the most by the Druid Chronicler magazine. Many 

of these selections were designed to be inserted into liturgies, and 

most were unknown to (or unused by) most Carleton Druids until 

1986. Some of the songs, to the say the least, are anti-Christian in 

the sense that they call for revenge for the "Burning Times" of the 

Inquisition and Witch Hunts. I once found these songs disturbing, 

but I’ve grown to find an admirable fire of resistance in these 

songs. Others will say they fortify the singers in face of 

persecution. 

Michael Scharding 

St. Cloud, MN 

April 6, 1996 

Publishing History 

1976 1st Printing, Druid Chronicles (Evolved) 

1996 2nd Printing, ARDA 

2003 3rd Printing, ARDA 2

Processional Hymn 

(Customs 2:1-3) 

Words by Kathie Courtice 

Music by Peter Basquin 

O Earth-Mother 

We praise thee that seed springeth, 

that flower openeth, 

that grass waveth. 

We praise thee for winds that whisper 

through the graceful elm, 

through the shapely maple, 

through the lively pine, 

through the shining birch, 

through the mighty oak. 

We praise thee for all things, 

O Earth-Mother, who givest life. 

The words of the Chant were written by Kathie Courtice, 

now married to Peter Basquin, who wrote the music (to be found 

in The Book of Bards.) It was regularly sung as a part of the 

Services of Worship, usually as the Processional Chant. A note on 

the Hymn to the Earthmother at the start of the collection. Here is 

a letter that may be of interest to Druid musicians: 

"At the time, I wanted to express through the notation as 

well as through the rhythm and melody the kinship that would 

bear to the musical systems of earlier peoples. True, a single line 

notation was not even invented until the last thousand year or so, 

but it seemed somehow more fitting than the modern staff and 

clef. 

"At all events, I enclose here the melody as it would read in 

modern notation, albeit chant-notation. The rhythmic values are to 

be read as in modern notation generally, but with a somewhat 

flexible flow, as in most chant. The bar-lines represent pauses 

ends of phrases, breath marks of shorter or longer length 

according to the time and the inspiration of the group singing. 

"The melody is a four-note chant, akin to the Medieval 

hypomixolydian mode (8th mode.) The note is written on the line 

"g" in the modern notation) is the recitation tone of the chant (the 

"tonic.”) The step below it should certainly not be raised to the 

leading tone, on the contrary, it would be better sung slightly 

flatter than the modern notation suggest, so the two lower notes 

stand nearly in ratio of 6 to 7 in the overtone series. You may be 

interested to know that the author of the poem is now my wife. 

The Earth Mother has blessed us with a very happy and 

compassionate marriage. She would prefer to be credited with her 

then (maiden) name, Kathie Courtice, and I, simply as Peter 

Basquin." 

320 

Now Do We With Songs and Rejoicing 

(A Processional Hymn) 

Words by David T. Geller (NRDNA) 

Sung to the traditional tune of: 

"Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence" 

Now do we with songs and rejoicing, 

Come before the Mother to stand. 

She has given forth of Her bounty 

And with blessings in Her hand, 

In the fields She walks 

And in the woods She walks; 

Our full homage to command. 

At Her voice the wild wind is silent 

And the fox lies down with the hare. 

Every living creature before Her 

Sings Her praises to declare: 

Thanks to Thee for all, 

O thanks to Thee for All, 

Thanks to Thee, O Lady most fair! 

The Lady's Bransle 

(Pronounced "brall") 

Words by Hope 

Sung to the traditional tune of: "Nonesuch" (short version) and 

reprinted by permission from "Songs for the Old Religion" 

(Copyright 1973) 

O She will bring the buds in the Spring 

And laugh among the flowers. 

In Summer heat are Her kisses sweet; 

She sings in leafy bowers. 

She cuts the cane and gathers the grain, 

When fruits of Fall surround Her. 

Her bones grow old in Wintery cold; 

She wraps Her cloak around Her. 

But She will bring the buds in... 

(repeat freely) 

The Host is Riding 

(Poem by Yeats) 

The host is riding from Knocknarea 

And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare; 

Caolte tossing his burning hair, 

And Niamh calling, "Away, come away: 

Empty your heart of its mortal dream 

The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, 

Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, 

Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam, 

Our arms are waving, our lips are apart, 

And if any gaze on our rushing band, 

We come between him and the deed of his hand, 

We come between him and the hope of his heart." 

The host is rushing 'twixt night and day; 

And where is there hope or deed as fair? 

Caolte tossing his burning hair, 

And Niamh calling, "Away, come away."

Oimelc Hymn 

(for use during Communion) 

Words by Robert Larson (NRDNA) 

The days are short, 

the heavens dark 

the Mother sleeps. 

The trees are bare 

the north wind stalks 


The nights are long 

and full of fright, 


But the ewe gives birth, 

the ewe gives milk 

the Mother stirs. 

The Mother smiles 

with dreams of life 

She will return. 

And on that day 

will we rejoice 

when She returns. 

Long the day, 

bright the sky, 


Green the trees, 

soft the breeze, 


Short the night, 

our fires alight, 

when She returns! 

(extra verses may be added by each Grove) 

The Rune of Hospitality 

(A Medieval Charm) 

I saw a stranger yestere'e'n. 

I put food in the eating-place, 

Drink in the drinking-place, 

Music in the listening-place. 

And in the blessed names 

Of the Holy Ones, 

He blest myself and my house, 

My cattle and my dear ones. 

And the lark sang in her song: 

Often, often, often, 

Go the Gods in the guise of strangers. 

Often, often, often, 

Go the Gods in the guise of strangers. 

Will Ye No Come Back Again? 

Words by Isaac Bonewits 


"Bonny Charlie's Now Awa" 

1 

In exile live our Olden Gods, 

Banished o'er the foaming main, 

To lands no mortal ever trods. 

Will They e'er come back again? 

Chorus 

Will Ye no come back again? 

321 


Better love Ye canna be. 


2 

Hills They walked were all Their own, 

Blest the land, from sea to sea; 

Till the clergy, with pious moan, 

Banished all the noble Shee! 

3 

Sweet the chanting of the Druids, 

Lilting wildly up the glen, 

Pouring out the sacred fluids, 

As they sing Your songs again! 

4 

Many a gallant Pagan fought, 

Many a gallant Witch did burn; 

Priest and Priestess, both have sought, 

To sing the prayers Ye canna spurn! 

5 

Now with eagle and with dove, 

Sing we here our heartfelt plea: 

Come with thunder or with love, 

But come! Good Gods, we so need Thee!! 

May Their Devil Take the Preachers 

Words by Chwerthin 


"God Bless England" (the Irish version) 

1 

We'll sing you a tale of wrath and woe- 

Wack-for-the-diddle,diddle-di-do-day, 

For the men who laid our freedom low- 

Wack-for-the-diddle, diddle-di-do-day. 

May fear and famine be their share, 

Who've kept our land in want and care. 

May their Devil take the preachers 

Is our prayer! 

Chorus: 


Hip hooray! So we say! 

Come and listen while we pray! 


2 

Now when we were Pagan, fierce and free- 

Wack-for-... 

The Preachers went on a bloody spree- 

Wack-for-... 

Harshly raised us in their slime, 

And kept our hands from Heathen Crime; 

And sent us early to their Heaven 

Time after time! 

Wack-for-... 

3 

Now our parents oft were naughty folk- 

Wack-for-... 

For swords and spears can sometimes poke- 

Wack-for-... 

At New Grange and at Tara Hill, 

We made the preachers cry their fill.

But, O the Saints! they "love" us still! 

Wack-for-... 

4 

Now Pagans all, forget the past- 

Wack-for-... 

And think of the day that's coming fast- 

Wack-for-... 

When we shall be Paganized, 

With guns and armor motorized! 

Oh WON'T the preachers be surprised!! 

Wack-for-... 

Hymn to Hurry the Return of Spring 

(A poem by Mary Siegle) 

Greet the Goddess with bells and drum, 

Greet the God with laughter. 

This is the night the dawn begins 

The day to follow after. 

Gather the old, the dead from the trees, 

Carry it in your arms. 

Bring it into the deep, deep woods, 

Away from the towns and the farms. 

Build you a living fire tonight- 

Pile the branches high. 

And know that in the fire's glow, 

There's warmth to light the sky. 

There's an old man cries the town tonight; 

Down wide streets and narrow; 

"Bring out, bring out, what you don't need, 

and toss it in my barrow." 

"Throw out your chairs, your attic stairs, 

Throw out the butter churn. 

Whatever's there; what you can spare, 

As long as it will burn." 

"Bring out your sister's gramophone, 

We'll throw it on the fire; 

And from your grandma's double bed 

Build Winter's funeral pyre." 

Slip away to the woods tonight; 

Be children of the Moon. 

And rejoice that Spring has come at last; 

That Spring has come so soon. 

You who complain of Winter's cold 

And shiver in the snow, 

Push back the shroud from the Mother's breast- 

See promised green below. 

All skeptics that the Spring returns, 

All doubters that the fire still burns, 

Stand in the circle for tonight, 

And feel the heat and see the light, 

The greet the God with reverence- 

Pour libations on the earth. 

This is the night the Mother proves 

Life's natural end is birth. 

322 

Midsummer: The Turning of the Year 

(A Poem by Mary Siegle) 

My Father's strong today. 

The Earth awaits his dawn. 

Our Mother slowly turns in her dreaming sleep 

And, waking, finds him there to share her bed. 

My Mother slowly turns, 

And, in turning toward her lover, 

Gives a day of playfulness and ease. 

And all the stirrings in the womb shall cease- 

The ripening of the grain and labor in the fields shall pause. 

The singing of the birds: 

The peep; the scratching from the egg- 

The grasses steady pushing from the earth- 

All will stop for one full day. 

The fullest of our year 

And meant for naught but love. 

But if the God comes shining, 

And the sun beats down 

And Earth opens wide to receive her Lord, 

If this day lasts so long, 

Why can't it go on? 

Why does the Mother turn now 

Not toward, but from; 

And turn more quickly every day from this? 

Sisters, look how your own lover comes 

To lie down with you and love 

And love again. 

He asks a pulsebeat's pause, 

A moment yet of time 

for strength 

To begin again 

And spend the day. 

Thanksgiving Grace 

(A Poem by Mary Siegle) 

Oh Goddess, giver of the grain- 

Your rich rewarding of the rain- 

Our Father the Sun looked down and blest 

The fruits of your sweet Mother breast. 

The harvest done and to this end. 

We sit to meal with a cherished friend. 

And thanks be to the plants and the beast- 

For the offering of this bountiful feast. 

Our Father Who art in Heaven, 

We give to you one day in seven; 

And then to acknowledge Your Loving care, 

We give to you one day a year. 

Amen.

The Falling Asleep of the Mother of God 

(A Poem by Mary Siegle for August 15th) 

For the children, so that they will know what feast it is today, 

and how the ancient festival time came to be given to the virgin. 

She fell asleep today. 

The Mother of God- 

She who wept so- 

Madre Dolorosa! 

She fell asleep today. 

And the angels came. 

They bore her up on a breath of wind. 

A sky-blue cloak 

Of air against air against air- 

To heaven the fairies bore her up. 

She who wept so- 

On this day she was taken up. 

Mother don't weep today. 

See, we'll take this festival for you. 

See, this feast is yours. 

Our Lady of the Harvest, 

The first fruits are yours. 

The 13 Days of Samhain 

Words by the Berkeley Grove 

Sung to the traditional tune 

On the first day of Samhain, 

the cailleach sent to me: 

a lios in County Tipperary. 

On the second day of Samhain, 

the cailleach sent to me: 

two water-horses 

and a lios in County Tipperary. 

Three Mor-Rioghna 

Four Pooks 

Five Silver branches 

Six pipers piping 

Seven harpers harping 

Eight hunters riding 

Nine Sidhe a-sighing 

Ten Druids scrying 

Eleven washer-women 

Twelve mortals dying 

Thirteen beansidhes crying. 

The Woad Song 

Authorship unknown 

(But obviously English!) 

Sung to the traditional tune 

of "Men of Harlech" 

What's the use of wearing braces, 

Hat and spats and shoes with laces, 

Coats and vests you find in places 

Down on Brompton Road? 

What the use of shirts of cotton, 

Studs that always get forgotten? 

These affairs are simply rotten- 

Better far is woad. 

323 

Woad's the stuff to show men- 

Woad to scare your foeman! 

Boil it to a brilliant blue 

And rub it on your chest and your abdomen! 

Men of Britain never hit on 

Anything as good as woad to fit on 

Neck or knee or where you sit on 

Tailors, you be blowed! 

Romans came across the Channel, 

All dressed up in tin and flannel. 

Half a pint of woad per man'll 

Clothe us more than these. 

Saxons, you may save your stitches, 

Building beds for bugs in britches; 

We have woad to clothe us, which is 

Not a nest for fleas! 

Romans, keep your armors; 

Saxons, your pajamas. 

Hairy coats were made for goats, 

Gorillas, yaks, retriever dogs and llamas! 

March on Snowdon with your woad on- 

Never mind if you get rained or snowed on- 

Never need a button sewed on... 

All you need is woad!! 

The Gods of the West 


Sung to the traditional tune of 

"The Men of the West" 

1 

When you honor in song and in story 

The Gods of our old Pagan kin, 

Whose blessings did cover with glory 

Full many a mountain and glen; 

Forget not the Gods of our ancestors, 

Who'll rally our bravest and best, 

When Ireland is Christian and bleeding, 

And looks for its hope to the West. 

Chorus: 

So here's to the Gods of our ancestors, 

Who'll rally our bravest and best, 

When Ireland is Christian and bleeding- 

Hurrah! for the Gods of the West. 

2 

Oh the Shee hills with glory will shine then, 

On the eve of our bright Freedom Day; 

When the Gods we've been wearily waiting, 

Sail back from the Land of the Fey! 

And over Ireland rise the Druids, 

Awakening in every breast, 

A fire that can never be quenched, friends, 

Among the true Gaels of the West. 

3 

Dublin will be ours 'ere the midnight, 

And high over ever town, 

Our Heathen prayers then will be floating 

Before the next sun has gone down. 

We'll gather, to speed the good work, our friends, 

The Heathen from near and afar, 

And history will watch us expel ALL

The preachers with feathers and tar! 

4 

So pledge us the Old Gods of Ireland, 

The Dagda and Lugh and Danu; 

Whose Return, with the trumpet of battle, 

Will bring hope to Their children anew! 

As the Old Gods have brought to Their feasting halls, 

From many a mountain and hill, 

The Pagans who fell, so They're here, friends, 

To lead us to victory still! 

5 

Though all the bright beauty we cherished, 

Went down 'neath the churches and woe, 

The Spirits of Old still are with us, 

Who NEVER have bent to the foe! 

And the Old Gods are ready whenever 

The loud rolling tuck of the drum 

Rings out to awaken the Heathen, 

And tell us our morning has come! 

The Mystery 

(A different version of Customs 10:1-3) 

I am a wind on the sea, 

I am a wave of the ocean, 

I am the roar of the sea, 

I am a hawk on a cliff, 

I am a dewdrop in the sunshine, 

I am a boar for valour, 

I am a salmon in pools, 

I am a lake in a plain, 

I am the strength of art, 

I am a spear with spoils that wages battle, 

I am a man that shapes fire for a head. 

Who clears the stone-place of the mountain? 

What the place in which the setting sun lies? 

Who has sought peace without fear seven times? 

Who names the waterfalls? 

Who brings his cattle from the house of Tethra? 

What person, what God, 

Forms weapons into a fort? 

In a fort that nourishes satirists, 

Chants a petition, divides the Ogham letters, 

Separates a fleet, has sung praises? 

A wise satirist. 

Pagans Are We 



"Soldiers are We" 

Pagans are we, 

Whose lives are pledged 

To this our land. 

Some have come 

From the Land Beyond the Wave. 

Sworn to the Shee, 

No more our ancient Heathen land 

Shall shelter the preacher or the slave. 

Tonight we guard the fairy-hill, 

In the Old Gods' cause, 

Come woe or weal. 

Mid Pukka's howl 

324 

And banshee's wail, 

We'll chant a Pagan song! 

Be Pagan Once Again! 



"A Nation Once Again" 

1 

When Childhood's fire was in my blood, 

I dreamed of ancient freemen, 

Against the Church who boldly stood 

As Pagans and as free kin. 

And then I prayed I yet might see 

The Druids in the glen; 

And Ireland, long the churches' toy, 

Be Pagan once again! 

Be Pagan once again. 


And Ireland, long the churches' toy, 


2 

The Old Gods only sleep, you know, 

Although betrayed and slandered. 

They guarded us from every woe, 

And blest each crop and fine herd. 

Then Patrick, he drove the snakes away, 

And brought the churches in- 

'Twas a bloody poor bargain, I would say. 




'Twas a bloody poor bargain, I would say- 


3 

And ever since that wretched day, 

When first Ireland went Christian, 

We've suffered woe in every way, 

With Freedom made the Great Sin. 

They set us at each other's throats, 

To murder kith and kin. 

Too long we've been their starving goats- 




Too long we've been their starving goats- 


4 

Both Catholic and Protestant 

Led us round by our noses; 

Distracting from the deadly scent 

Of England's blooming roses! 

Hang EVERY preacher from a tree- 

Burn out their golden dens. 

It's the only way we'll ever be free- 




It's the ONLY way we'll EVER be free! 

Be Pagan once again!!! 

Erinn go Bree!

A Celebration of Summer 

(A Medieval Welsh Poem, suitable for Samhain) 

taken, with one modification ("Peter" to "Pwyll") 

from Medieval Welsh Lyrics. 

Summer, parent of impulse, 

Begetter of close-knit bough, 

Warden, lord of wooded slopes, 

Tower to all, hills' tiller, 

You're the cauldron, wondrous tale, 

Of Annwn, life's renewal, 

It’s you, you are, source of singing, 

The home of each springing shoot, 

Balm of growth, burgeoning throng, 

And chrism of crossing branches. 

Your hand, by the Lord we love, 

Know how to make trees flourish. 

Essence of Earth's four corners, 

By your grace wondrously grow 

Birds and the fair land's harvest 

And the swarms that soar aloft, 

Moorland meadows' bright-tipped hay, 

Strong flocks and wild bees swarming. 

You foster, highways' prophet, 

Earth's burden, green-laden garths. 

You make my bower blossom, 

Building a fine web of leaves. 

And wretched is it always 

Near August, by night or day, 

Knowing by the slow dwindling, 

Golden store, that you must go. 

Tell me, summer, this does harm, 

I have the art to ask you, 

What region, what countryside, 

What land you seek, by Pwyll. 

"Hush, bard of praise, your smooth song, 

Hush, strong boast so enchanting. 

My fate it is, might feat, 

As a prince," sang the sunshine, 

"To come three months to nourish 

Foodstuff for the multitude; 

And when roof and growing leaves 

Whither, and woven branches, 

To Shun the winds of winter 

Deep down to Annwyn I go." 

The blessings of the world's bards 

And their good words go with you. 

Farewell, king of good weather, 

Farewell, our ruler and lord, 

Farewell, the fledgling cuckoos, 

Farewell, balmy banks in June, 

Farewell, sun high above us 

And the broad sky, round white ball. 

You'll not be, king of legions, 

So high, crest of drifting clouds, 

Till come, fair hills unhidden, 

Summer once more and sweet slopes. 

325 

The Lord of the Dance 

Modification by Isaac Bonewits of original words by Aidan Kelley 

to common tune of "Tis a Gift to be Simple," more or less...... 

1 

When She danced on the waters 

and the wind was Her horn, 

The Lady laughed and everything was born. 

And when She lit the Sun 

And the light gave Him birth, 

The Lord of the Dance then 

Appeared on the Earth! 

Chorus 

"Dance, dance, wherever you may be, 

for I am the Lord of the Dance," said He. 

"I live in you, if you live in Me, 

and I lead you all in the dance so free!" 

2 

I dance in the circle 

when the flames leap up high. 

I dance in fire and 

I never, never die. 

I dance in the waves 

on the bright summer sea, 

For I am the Lord 

of the waves' Mystery! 

3 

I sleep in the kernel 

and I dance in the rain. 

I dance in the wind and 

through the waving grain. 

And when you cut me down 

I care nothing for the pain- 

In the spring I'm the Lord 

of the Dance once again! 

4 

I dance at your meetings 

when you dance out the spell. 

I dance and sing that 

everyone be well. 

And when the dancing's over 

do not think I am gone; 

To live is to dance- 

so I dance on and on! 

I Fell In Love With the Lady 

words by Chwerthin 

Sung to "The Lady Came from Baltimore" 

by Tim Hardin 

1 

Her people came from off the moor, 

Live outside the law. 

Didn't care about rich or poor, 

Just the souls they saw. 

Chorus: 

I was sent to kill Her people, 

For the Inquisition. 

But I fell in love with the Lady, 

I came away with none. 

I fell in love with the Lady,

And came away with none. 

2 

I crept into the woods one night, 

To spy upon their dance. 

I saw a happy, holy sight; 

And fell into a trance. 

3 

The Lady that I saw that night, 

She wore a robe of blue, 

And on Her head, a crown of stars- 

She stood upon the Moon! 

4 

I joined into the dancing then, 

And when the Grand Rite came, 

The Lady reached out with Her hand- 

She Called me by my name! 

5 

The Jesuits are after me; 

They know I've changed my side. 

But they can search from sea to sea- 

I know where I can hide! 

Final Chorus: 

I was sent to kill Her people, 

For the Inquisition. 

But I'm going back to the Lady, 

They'll come away with none. 

I'm going back to the Lady- 

They'll come away with none! 

She Was Here 


1 

She was here before their Christ, 

And before their Satan too. 

And She'll be here when both their Gods 

Are dead and dust, 'tis true, 'tis true; 

Are dead and dust, 'tis true. 

2 

The Goddess... the Goddess... 

Spirit of life and of love! 

The Goddess... the Goddess.... 

Ruler below and Ruler above! 

3 

Oh the Goddess Whom we worship, 

Is our Holy Mother Earth. 

We worship Her with love and joy, 

With gladness and with mirth! 

4 

Call Her Isis, call Her Nuit, 

Call Her Venus or Diane, 

Matier Sotier, Mother Savior, 

Goddess of all sea and land! 

Repeat 1 

326 

5 

Queen of Heaven, Queen of Hell, 

Mother of all Gods, and kin! 

We worship Her in beds and bowers, 

Though some might call it "sin." 

Repeat 2 

6 

Man and woman, bodies merging, 

Thrusting, loving, prayers saying; 

Hark my friends, when Pagans love- 

We tell you we are praying! 

Repeat 1, 2, 3 

The Rising of the Druid Moon 

Words by Robert Pennell & Isaac Bonewits 


"The Rising of the Moon" 

1 

"O now tell me, Taliesin, 

Tell me why you hurry so?" 

"Hush, good Druid, hush and listen!" 

and his eyes were all aglow. 

"I bear news from the Archdruid, 

get you ready quick and soon- 

The Heathen must be together, 

by the rising of the moon!" 

By the rising of the moon, 

by the rising of the moon. 

The Heathen must be together, 

by the rising of the moon! 

2 

"Oh then tell me, Taliesin, 

where the gathering is to be?" 

"At the oak grove by the river, 

quite well known to you and me. 

One more word, for signal token, 

whistle out the Dagda's tune, 

With your sickle on your shoulder, 

by the rising of the moon!" 



With your sickle on your shoulder 


3 

Out of many a magic circle, 

cones were rising through the night. 

Many an oaken grove was throbbing 

with that blessed Druid light. 

And the Heathen sang across the land, 

to the Banshee's fatal tune. 

And a thousand spells were chanted, 




And a thousand spells were chanted, 

by the rising of the moon!

4 

Throughout that pulsing Pagan night, 

the Little people swarmed. 

High above the chanting Druids soon, 

a wrathful Goddess formed. 

Death to every foe and traitor! 

Pagans carve the fatal rune! 

Cast all our spells together now- 

'tis the rising of the moon! 

Tis the rising of the moon, 

'tis the rising of the moon. 

Cast all our spells together now- 

'tis the rising of the moon! 

5 

The Goddess headed for the East, 

across the sea's bright foam. 

What glorious havoc She did wreck 

in London and in Rome! 

And the Archdruid he spoke to us, 

upon the following noon: 

"I think we got our point across, 

at the rising of the moon! 

At the rising of the moon, 

at the rising of the moon. 

I think we got our point across, 

at the rising of the moon! 

Scharding's Note: 

I suspect that the author of many songs in this collection, 

Chwerthin, was a member of Hasidic Druids of North America, 

or perhaps of the NRDNA. 

327 

A Book of Songs and Poetry 

Volume One 1993 

Mike’s Poetry 


Compiled by Michael Scharding and Sine Ceolbhinn 

This book is a collection of songs, chants and poems that I have 

heard used or composed that may be deemed suitable to Druidic 

usage (or maybe not...) It is in no way an exclusive or exhaustive 

collection. Feel free to add or delete to its contents with songs or 

poetry of your favorite writers or historical sources. Even better, 

include some of your own compositions. 

As with the Dead Lake Scrolls, this volume was originally printed 

with amusing fonts, pictures and musical notation. This book was 

an attempt to capture all the poems and chants in use during my 

college days and to preserve some of my Bardic explorations. I 

don't think many other people read it. 

The song notation (only in printed copies) that I've included is the 

best that my meager skills could provide. There are tonal 

inflections that sometimes cannot be conveyed in script. Use the 

music as a guide, not as a taskmaster. Many are in strange modal 

forms of the key of C, my favorite singing key (but perhaps not 

yours) 


Day 81 of Samradh 

Year XXXI of the Reform 

(July 21st, 1993 c.e.) 

These documents are mostly of the Public Domain 

Please share it with others. 

Printing History 

1st Printing 1993 

2nd Printing 1996 (in ARDA, Pt 9) 

3 rd Printing 2003 (in ARDA 2, Pt 6 Green Book Vol. 6)

Samhain Procession Hymn 

By Michael Nov. 1, 1992 

Thanks to the Earth for giving us birth. 

Thanks to the Sky, both wet and dry. 

Thanks to all creatures in between, 

Those that have bodies, and those unseen. 

We of the oak groves here first arose, 

Praisin' you in song, thirty years long. 

Now comes the winter's cold, harsh test, 

When Sun and Earth are at their rest. 

By Michael 

The Triples Song 

I see the Moon and the Moon sees me 

Phases of the Goddess, numbered three: 

Maiden, Mother, Cro-ne 

Maiden, Mother, Crone. 

I see the Sun and the Sun sees me 

Phases of the Sun God, numbered three: 

The dawn, no-on and du-sk 

The dawn, no-on and dusk. 

Moon Chant 

By Michael 

(a round to the tune of "Rose, Rose") 

Moon, Moon, Moon, Moon 

Will you shed your light on us? 

I will shed my light on you 

As – I - rise. 

(Source Unknown) 

The Earth is our Mother 

We must take care of her 

The Earth is our Mother 

We must take care of her. 

Other verses: 

The Sky is our Father... 

The Animals are our pals... 

The Plants are our friends... 

All people are our race... 

The Caring Song 

We All Come From the Goddess 

From Circle 

We all come from the Goddess, 

And to her we shall return 

Like a drop of ra-ain 

Flowing to the ocean. 

We all come from the God, 

And to him we shall return 

Like a tongue of fla-ame 

Rising to the heavens. 

328 

By Michael 6/22/93 

The blue sky above me 

The green earth below 

The love of the spirits 

Where ever I go. 

Chorus: 

So this is my song 

And this is my call 

To love the Earth-Mother 

And to love Be'al 

We play in his forest, 

We dance in her fields, 

Eating their bounty 

They joyfully yield. 

To be a Druid 

Is to be Aware 

That all paths are one, 

Wherever we fare. 

This is My Song 

Fur and Feathers 

Fur and Feather and Scales and Skin 

Different without but the same within 

Many the bodies but one in soul 

Through all creatures are the gods made whole. 

Hymn to the Russian Earth 

If the people lived their lives 

As if it were a song for singing out of light 

Provides the music for the stars 

To be dancing circles in the night. 

Circle 

We are a circle, 

We are one, we are one. 

Circle Chant 

Song of the Earth-Mother 

O Earth-Mother! 

We praise thee that seed springeth, 

That flower openeth, 

That grass waveth. 

We praise thee for winds that whisper 

Thru the graceful elm, 

Thru the shapely maple, 

Thru the lively pine, 

Thru the shining birch, 

Thru the mighty oak. 

We praise thee for all things, 

O Earth Mother, Who givest life. 

Fly like the Eagle 

Fly so high 

Circle round the universe 

On wings of light 

Eagle Chant

He is the sun god! 

He is the one god! 

Ra! Ra! Ra! Ra! Ra! 

By Michael 

Dawning Chant 

Morning Prayer 

I thank you for the morning with the sun shining bright. 

I thank you for last evening with the stars in the night. 

I thank you for tomorrow, may their days be without end. 

I thank you most of all for being my dear, close friend. 

I thank you for my ancestors, the people of my past. 

I thank you for my kith and kin, may their love for me last. 

I thank for my children, may their numbers be without end. 

I thank you most of all for being my dear, close friend. 

Circles Song 

Gwen Zak Moore (& Anne Cass) 

In days gone by, when the earth was much younger 

Men wondered at spring, born of winter's cold knife 

Wondering at the games of the moon and the sunlight 

They saw there the Lady and the Lord of all life. 

Chorus 

And around, & around, & around turns the good earth. 

All things must change as the Seasons go by. 

We are the children of the Lord and the Lady, 

Whose mysteries we know, but will never know why. 

In all lands the people were tied with the good earth 

Sowing and reaping as the seasons declared, 

Waiting to reap of the rich, golden harvest, 

Knowing her laugh in the joys that they shared. 

Through Flanders and Wales and the green lands of Ireland 

In Kingdoms of England and Scotland and Spain 

Circles grew up all along the wild coastlines, 

To work for the weather with the sun and the rain. 

Circles for healing and working the weather. 

Circles for thanking the moon and the sun. 

Circles for thanking the Lord and the Lady. 

Circles for dancing the dance never done. 

And we who reach for the stars in the heavens, 

Turning our eyes from the meadows and groves 

Still live in the love of the Lord and the Lady: 

The greater the circle the more the love grows. 

Verse DDGA/DDGD/DAGD/DAGD 

Chorus DAGD/DAGD/DAGD/DAGD 

329 

Oimelc Song For Brigit 

Sam and I wrote a song this Sunday for the Oimelc ritual. We had 

to work with some major imagery. We had to incorporate a song 

with new-born lambs, rising sap in trees and Brigit. Brigit is the 

Celtic goddess of fire, blacksmithing and poetry. She was 

christianized as St. Brigit. We're sure we had her rolling on the 

ground in mirth at our pathetic attempt at a song. Music: The Ash 

Grove 

Lyrics: Feb. 1st, 1992 Michael Scharding and Samuel Adams 

The Hammers are pounding, The new sound is sounding, 

The forge is resounding with promise of spring. 

The Good Earth is forming, the new leaves are forming, 

The birds are performing, the songs that they bring. 

The New lambs are grazing, your song we are raising, 

Again we are praising you, now as before. 

Now Brigit enlighten me, strengthen and righten me, 

Sharpen and brighten me, now evermore. 

Oimelc Silly Song of Brigit 

Now there are some poor verses worth reminding ourselves with. 

Writing is a learning process, and many ideas pop up. The only 

way to get rid of them is to work out the silly verses: 

The Hammers are beating, the sheep they are bleating, 

It’s soon we'll be eating, I brought my own fork. 

The Good Earth is warming, the sheep they are swarming, 

We bards are performing, but not very well. 

The new leaves are budding, the pagans are rutting, 

We’ll all go streak Nutting, and wave Hi to Skeech. 

Sam forded the river, its cold made him shiver, 

We don't like the winter, please take it away. 

Oh gods we admire, we can't start this fire, 

It’s raising our ire, Damn!, why won't it start? 

Now Brigit enlighten me, please do not frighten me, 

Or throw lightnin at me or blast me to bits. 

Source:Ancient 

The Thirteen Fold Mystery 

I am the wind that blows upon the sea. 

I am the wave upon the ocean. 

I am the murmur of the willows. 

I am the ox of the seven combats. 

I am the vulture on the rocks. 

I am a beam of the sun. 

I am the fairest of plants. 

I am a boar in wild valor. 

I am a salmon in the water. 

I am a lake in the plain. 

I am a word of knowledge. 

I am the point of the lance of battle. 

I am the God who created in the head, the fire 

Who is it who casts light upon the meeting on the mountain? 

Who announces the ages of the moon? 

Who teaches where couches the sun? 

-If not I?

Chant to the Earthmother 

By Norman Nelson '65 RDNA 

O Earth-mother, we praise thee. 

In all that we do we praise thee: In our getting up and in our 

lying down, in our sleeping and in our waking; in our eating and 

in our drinking: in our working and in our times of leisure; for we 

are alive only through thee and in our every act too we praise thee. 

O Earth Mother we praise thee. 

In all that we see do we praise thee: in the sky and the sea, 

the hills and the plains; in the clouds and the stars, the moon and 

the sun; in the birds and the flowers, the butterflies and the 

myriad-colored fishes. 

We praise thee with our admiration of the sunset and of the 

mountains, of the trees and of the streams. For thou hast made all 

things, and for all we see do we praise thee. 


In all that we hear and smell and feel and taste do we praise 

thee: in the song of birds and the roar of the sea; in the perfumes 

of flowers and freshness of a summer rain; in the softness of a 

kitten and the coolness of a lake; in the sweetness of honey and 

the savor of fruits; for all that we hear and smell and feel and taste 

is of thee, and for all sensible do we praise thee. 


For all that we love do we praise thee: for the love of our 

parents, and for the love of others; for the act and emotion of love 

is an act and emotion of praise, and in loving do we praise thee. 


In our meditations and services do we praise and think upon 

thy works and power. 


In all the whole world do we praise thee, from the east to 

the west do we praise thee and from the nadir to the zenith do we 

praise thee. 

We praise thee in the day, and in the night, in all seasons of 

the year, and in the myriad of years. 

We praise thee knowing and unknowing, believing and of 

little faith, for thou hast made all and art all, and we can praise 

and admire nothing without praising and admiring thee. 


The Old Bard 

April 9th, 1992 by Michael Scharding 

How good it would be to be an old bard, 

Back in the times when living was hard. 

I'd sit near the top of the table that's long 

And fill hungry minds with the meats of my song. 

I'd pass their hours thru the longest winter. 

I'd take them away when the wind was bitter 

To the land of fruit and youth and pleasure 

Where none can die, and all have treasure. 

I'd sing of tragedy, the deaths of lovers, 

Who cried in this world, and laughed in the Other. 

I'd praise the chieftain, whose valor and might 

Would bring us to vict'ry in all of our fights. 

330 

I'd tell of the Sidhe (SHEE,) whose palaces shine 

Within the hills since the start of time. 

I'd tell of the strength and the powers of oak, 

And the things that lurk under night's blue cloak. 

I'd sing of our gods: Dagda and his harp, 

Ogmos of the tongue, Angus of the heart, 

Lugh of the crafts, Cuchulain the strong, 

Nuada silver hand, Briccriu who did wrong. 

I'd play for the Clann the three Bardic airs: 

The songs that free those weighed down with cares, 

The songs of tears that brings them to weep, 

The lullaby that calms and soothes them to sleep. 

I'd be the link that binds and gathers 

The youngest bairns to the oldest fathers. 

But I well know that this life cannot be 

While I'm still here on this side of the sea. 

By Michael 10/5/91 

The Desert 

Is it better to travel in the night or day? 

At night, the way is cool...but confusing. 

At day, the sun guides...but grinds you. 

Is it better to be lost than to suffer? 

Night's Things 

By Michael Scharding 5/1/90 (My first Adult poem) 

a supple tree by the lake shore 

swaying and calming 

servant to the whims of the wind 

a moist-eyed deer on the forest's edge 

sensing and searching 

for the new place to call home 

a green grassy field and Night 's cloak 

rolling and tossing 

like bed sheets of a sleeper 

a bare-foot man sits on a knoll 

thinking and listening 

to the moon's whispering shadows 

the speckled stone in the stream bed 

hard'ning and eroding, 

shaped by the sure passage of time. 

Night's Things Revisited 

By Michael Scharding 5/1/92 

a supple tree by the lake shore, 

swaying and calming 

to the whims of the Night's breeze. 

a moist-eyed deer on the wood's edge, 

sensing and searching 

for the new place to call home.

a green grassy field in Night's dark, 

rolling and tossing 

like bed sheets on a sleeper 

a young bard sits on a tall knoll, 

thinking and list'ning 

to the moon's whisp'ring shadows 

a stone in the unlit stream's depth, 

wearing and smoothing 

under the whetstone of time. 

The Four 

By Michael Scharding May 27th, 1992 

I listen to the music of my harp 

As fingers twist to a will of their own. 

I feel the pulsing of my living heart 

Measure the poems by its thunderous drone. 

In the warm groves, I talk with the Good Folk, 

My toes rooted firmly in Mother Earth. 

How subtle the changes Time will invoke, 

Earth is ever-ready for a new birth. 

I splash the water, rile it with my toes, 

But it always falls into shape again. 

Angry, rough seas pounding upon the coasts 

Their strident message is that of Earth's pain. 

The desert air flickers with flames of heat 

And I look out upon the scorched lands. 

Could I survive long if I were set free? 

Or would I die and burn upon the sands? 

The Dead Ghost 

By Michael Scharding April 9, 1992 

A musical ghost haunts that hill, 

Most can't hear it, and I doubt Jean will. 

The phantom mourns love lost long ago 

And sadly sings about the lying foe 

Who stabbed him over a women's false claim. 

That woman and I now share our last name. 

By Michael Scharding 3/7/92 

Two Welsh Triads 

Three Things No One Knows: 

Where your soul was before you were born. 

What you should do during the short break. 

Where the greatest journey stops next time. 

Three Things I Won't Tell: 

What things lurk under my kilt and sporran. 

Whose wife I call my lover in the night. 

How much I had to bribe the judge when I did tell the second in 

order to keep the first. 

331 

By Michael 

A Winter's Poem for Heather 

In this season where all seems dead, 

And life's sleeping in snow's white bed, 

Know that nature's strong energy 

Will soon, in spring, bloom forth for thee. 

By Michael April 26th, 1992 

The Sweat Lodge 

We stood, clad, around the fire 

When will it start? 

Heartbeat so hard I can see it. 

Madonna songs waft in from a nearby bonfire party 

That is not us. 

I look around at the faces 

People I know. 

Labmates, Roommates 

Friends I've eat Pizza with. 

Men and Women, 

Not Children. 

Why are they here? 

Will we work together? 

Gosh, what if I get a hard-on... 

And they see it? 

I won't, I hope. 

I'm mature. Control. 

Control. 

Stop beating so fast! 

Dry those hands. 

Still wet. 

The priestess disrobes and joins us. 

I try and not stare. 

They're bodies. Swallow. 

The fire is judged hot. 

Glowing rocks hunted, 

Fished from the coals, 

Prodded with sticks, 

Herded into skillets, 

Transferred to the Lodge. 

Sparks and Activity 

Another portaged. 

How many more? A few. 

Time, you're slow. 

From fire to Lodge. 

I built that lodge with them. 

Things are progressing. 

It's all right. 

You're not a novice. 

cool down, Mike. 

Checklists. 

what if.... 

They're done! 

It's starting! 

Straighten up! 

Clear away thoughts. 

They look nervous. 

I'm nervous.

She says were ready. 

Right! 

Clothes off! Clothes off! 

Damn laces!! Argh! 

Allright, that's done. 

Return to the circle. 

Everybody is naked. 

Every body is naked. 

Arms 

Legs 

Chests 

Bellies... Genitals.. 

Wow. 

We really are... 

Different? 

No. 

Mostly alike... 

Pay attention! 

Hum, Mike! Chant! 

Hummmm mmmmmm 

Aahahaha! Hooooooo! 

His hand, her hand. 

We are a circle. 

The waves settle. 

The mind softens. 

Armor straps loosen. 

Steel plates fall softly. 

Family. 

They see me. 

Aohhhhhm. 

The sky churns slowly. 

My breathing.. 

slows.. 

down. 

A vision! 

A Vision 

Eagles and cranes 

Soar. SOARING. 

Owl is there. 

Feathers out stiff and feeling the 

Currents of air. 

A push here, an ebb there. 

I turn my head and look down. 

Wind rushes over my eyeballs. 

Sharp vision scans the running countryside. 

Galloping of veins in my head. 

Cross-current ruffles my feathers. 

I compensate. 

Pull the wings closer. 

Drop. 

Drop. 

Drop. 

Extend. 

Push from gravity's embrace. 

Tree tops. 

Many types. 

Thin twigs. 

Strong arms. 

Flowing grass. 

Moonlit prairie. 

Flap. 

Flap. 

332 

Flap. 

Pull the wings back. 

Stretch the legs out. 

Reach. 

Close the talons. 

Ground so close. 

Its legs churn. 

Eyes trying to reach safety from me. 

Its body slowing down its eyes. 

Close the talons. 

Sink them. 

Weight is added. 

Scoop up the rabbit. 

Its legs now useless. 

Torso twitches and thrashes. 

Cannot escape. 

Take it home. 

Flap. 

Flap. 

Flap. 

Kill it. 

Food. 

Time to leave. 

"Bye Owl." 

"Bye Owl-man." 

Return to the Lodge 

Feathers to fingers. 

Branches to dirt 

Leaves to a plastic tarp. 

I am back. 

Voice strong. 

Heyah! Yah Hah! Ho! Hey! 

Lead them in mind. 

Mind's strong legs dance about the lodge. 

Body imitates by twitch. 

They also traveled. 

Steam is lessening. 

Keening and cries soften. 

Pull strength in. 

Channel to friends, 

People in torture far away, 

People without hope. 

We fold our weary wings. 

Ready? Yeah. 

"Grab a support Pole." 

One. Two. Three! 

Lift! 

The black sky rises and falls away. 

The sky churns above us. 

Heat goes, cold comes. 

Steam spreads. 

Cold rubs on us. 

Mist rises from bodies. 

We laugh! 

Dance! 

Shout! 

Hop about like frogs! 

Hug! 

It worked! Oh Gods! It worked!


The Camel 

The Camel sails upon the desert 

It knows the way will be long & dry. 

The Camel sails upon the desert 

And only its rider can know why. 

The Falcon soars with its outstretched wings 

It feels the ebbs and puffs of the air. 

The Falcon soars with its out-stretched wings 

On it's destination does it care? 

The Salmon leaps o'er the churning falls 

Leaving the water it briefly flies. 

The Salmon leaps o'er the churning falls 

And reaching its birthplace, the fish dies. 


A boring biolab fieldtrip... 

How much longer? 

Smoke! Look, Smoke! 

What type of fire is that? 

Run to the cause. 

Branches dodge me. 

Emerge from the quiet woods. 

Roaring frames before me 

Rippling downwind. 

One spark started it. 

The spreading ring. 

Inside, all is burnt. 

The area of Change is thin. 

Outside, all fear it. 

The Change is painful. 

That-which-changes 

Can see but the pain. 

Should I jump through, 

Or let it catch me? 


The Prairie Fire 


Do I aimlessly wander the silent hills? 

Are my sylvan prayers better spent in church? 

Can an Outsider cure the world's dark ills? 

Will I ever find That for which I search? 

By Michael 

Sonnet 1: The Would-be Bard 

My Muse, she gathers songs of man and elf, 

The moving ballad with feuds and flowers. 

Yet this is all to waste, just like my self, 

if we can't write a song by our powers. 

Knowledge, she knows what I attempt to say. 

Skill, he molds out my dreams (time pays his hire.) 

Wisdom, she pushes us onward when we tire. 

With the, the mind of the wise bard can sing. 

Och!, how I seek to obtain their prowess. 

Fain that I were the master of one thing 

Than the journeyman with twelve not of his! 

333 

There's more value in my crafted object 

Than the finest scale could ever detect. 


The White Jewel 

Some mock my lovely jewel, 

"She is merely a moon." 

She can move seas... Can you? 

Her light is scorned by lamps, 

"I can turn them on or off!" 

She leads women... Can you? 

She always will return. 

"She is in fixed orbit." 

She's eternal... Are you? 


Sine Ceolbhinn 

'Se Sine Ceolbhinn a tha an anam oirre! 

Seinn i an amhrainn sean agus an amhrainn og! 

Tha thu mor clarsach beag agus mo caraid fhior! 

Tha mo gaol bog ort, an drasda gu siorraidh! 

To Jean Sweetmusic 

Jean Sweetmusic is the name that is upon she! 

She sings the ancient songs and those that crawl on knees! 

You are my little harp and my most loyal friend! 

My soft love is on you now till the final end! 

A Poem to my Harp 

When we go to Eire what will it be like? 

Will I explore on foot or ride on a bike? 

Will I unpack you on a wind torn strand 

To play for dancing spirits of that land? 

Will the Quiet Ones come from hidden doors 

To sit around us at Her heath'ry moors? 

Will my chilled hands pluck random melodies 

While the streams sing of lands with golden trees? 

Will Night's chorus join us in a sad tune 

With your strings backlit by a silv'ry moon? 

Perhaps the Bardic Muse will whisper things 

That reveal stories of lovers and of kings. 

Let's go, good companion, maybe this year, 

And see what wonders may to us appear.


Volume Two 1994 

Friends of the Earth-Mother 


To the Readers, 

Welcome to this collection of songs and poetry dealing with 

nature. All of the items were obtained from students, faculty, 

friends and staff of Carleton College. Our campus is beautiful and 

well representative of the marvelous beauties still extant in Nature. 

Whether Christian, Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Neo-Pagan etc. the 

earth is our responsibility to take care of. Only when we truly feel 

the importance of the earth to our spiritual lives, will we override 

our short-sighted material greed to exploit it. Hopefully, in a 

small way this publication will help. 

This was not officially a RDNA publication, but was 

published under a front name of the Friends of the Earth Mother 

at Carleton College (FOEMACC.) The only official Druids in the 

whole work were me, Dick Smiley and Matt Cohen. The rest of 

the people were friends of mine who had an interest in Nature 

poetry. 

Please do not reproduce this book for monetary gain but 

only to give a copy to a friend. None of the authors have 

expressly given their assent for their work to be abused or reused. 

Michael Scharding, Editor 

December 8th, 1993 

Goodhue Hall by Lyman Lakes 


1st Printing 1993 

2nd Printing 1996 (in ARDA, Pt 9) 

3 rd Printing 2003 (in ARDA 2, Pt 6 Green Book Vol. 6) 

334 

By Scott Stearns 

Dark clouds roll over the land 

The quickly moving storm 

Devouring the light in its path 

Lightning and thunder 

Signs of the gods displeasure 

Warning of the rains to come 

The very air crackles 

with horrible anticipation 

of horrible things to come 

Then comes the rain 

cascading, a sheet of water 

a torrent of angel's tears 

All in its path are drenched 

The storm's sheer ferocity 

unmatched in Measured time 

hopelessness fills my heart 

as I sit idle 

and watch the falling water 

when of a sudden 

as quick as Hermes himself 

the black clouds roll past 

Rays of light, less than nothing 

smash the clouds 

as if they were hammers 

I wish I were an artist 

able to paint the sky 

for I would paint it as it is 

Dark Clouds 

Hope fills my heart 

light fills my eyes 

and a rainbow glows in the distance 

Sir Isaac Newton: 

"So then the first religion was the most rational of all others, till 

the nations corrupted it. For there is no way (implied: without 

revelation) to come to your knowledge of a Deity but by the 

Frame of Nature." -Yahuda Manuscript 41, Fo. 7 

By Matt Cohen 

The Comet 

Chrome and copper 

the comet collided with the sky 

sliding sideways across the slight canyon of my sight. 

A screaming song. A 

sizzling, 

sputtering, 

sibilant 

serpent. 

Horace (65 - 8 b.c.e.): 

"Drive Nature off with a pitchfork, never the less, she will return 

with a rush."

By Scott Stearns 

The cruelest joke 

played by the gods 

upon man 

The Cruelest Joke 

is not a winter's day 

the sun shining like never before; 

yet the world is frozen 

and dead 

Nor is it autumn 

when the leaves turn brilliant 

yet they soon die 

in splendid agony 

Nor is it spring 

when the earth is being renewed 

yet storms do rip 

all the land asunder 

Nor is it summer 

when the sun is nearest the earth, 

yet the heat does scorch, 

and all the land turns brown 

No, the cruelest joke 

that not even the Trickster 

in all his malevolent mischief 

could surpass 

is life. 

The Friend of the RDNA 

Words: Sam Adams, ArchDruid of St. Olaf. 

Tune:Ystwffwl (Welsh, in "English, Irish, Welsh & Scottish 

fiddle tunes" by Robin Williamson.) 

Here is a song I sang at a Mistletoe Rite of the Henge of Keltria in 

Minneapolis. It was more or less commissioned by Mec. 

The Druids and Mages of earliest times 

Kept the Wisdom of Ages in memorized rhymes 

But they lost all their files when the System went down 

If they'd kept the hard copies, they'd still be around. 

In the year '63 there were Druids again 

And they wasted no time putting paper to pen. 

They saw the Reform, and they thought it was good 

And they all started writing as fast as they could. 

Epistles and Libers and Writs and Decrees 

By thirty years on they'd come up to our knees 

In the Carleton Archives there's shelf after shelf 

With half of them needed for Isaac himself. 

But many were tattered and battered and lost 

To find and replace them would be of great cost 

But then came the grace of a well-lettered friend 

To make sure we'd not lose our Druids again. 

Here's to David, and David, and Norman, and Tom 

And Richard, and Robert, and Isaac and Don 

And our love and our blessing and a hip-hip-hooray 

To Tony, the Friend of the RDNA. 

335 

(The men in the last Stanza were prominent early members of the 

RDNA (David Fisher, David Frangquist, Norman Nelson, 

Thomas McCausland, Richard Shelton, Robert Larson, Don 

Morrison and Tony Taylor of the Henge of Keltria. The 

regrettable lack of women is due to the regrettable sexism of the 

early RDNA; there were great women leaders throughout, but 

they did more ritual leading than Scripture writing. Which might 

just explain a few things about the Christian Bible.) 

By Mec 11/22/92 


Do I aimlessly wander the silent hills? 

Are my sylvan prayers better spent in church? 

Can an outsider cure the world's dark ills? 

Will I ever find That for which I search? 

By Fer Horn 

When I grow up, 

I want wings like a seagull, 

That ripple as I fly, 

Starting at the body 

And spreading to the tips. 

To soar low above the waves, 

To swoop up and then plunge 

Into the water 

And then bob up like a cork. 

To fly far and fast, 

Never touching the shore. 

By Fer Horn 

When I Grow Up 

A Hand Print 

A hand print is an interesting thing 

To leave on the wall of a cave. 

What else so eloquently says, 

"I was here. I Am." 

To put your hand there 

And leave the mark of your passing. 

A hand, reaching out from the past 

To the people of the future, 

Who will come and think 

On those who Were before 

And touch their hand to yours. 

"Yes, we Are." 

Dancing Winds 

By Fer Horn 10-1-91 Tuesday Queenscliff, Victoria 

Storm driven winds howl through my mind. 

So like a stormy night at home. 

It sounds the same in different trees, 

Whistles in the alley, screams along the sea. 

It even has the same feel; 

Of power beyond control, 

Bringing creatures not seen 

Out to dance with the blowing trees.

Silverton 

By Fer Horn 10-29-91 Tuesday Silverton, NSW 

Silverton is a ghost town located outside of Broken Hill, New 

South Wales. It used to be a mining town until the 1920s when 

the mines ran out and all the people moved away. There used to 

be a train that ran from Broken Hill to Silverton. The townspeople 

of Broken Hill would ride out to Silverton every Sunday in their 

Sunday-best for picnics. The only occupied buildings there are a 

tourist bar, a museum and a seasonal movie production facility. 

A voice calling as the sun rose 

Pulls me out of sleep 

To stand dimly in the light of the sun 

Touching an empty town. 

Something wants my attention 

Wants me to do something. 

I wander the streets to listen 

As the sky turns to rose, 

Searching for that which calls me in dreams. 

The lived-in homes are silent now 

As is the levee that runs straight to the sky. 

Echoes of the train to Broken Hill 

Clatter briefly as I cross 

But fade away as I stop to listen. 

Finally, a small white building, 

Windows peaked in perpetual worry, 

Catches my gaze. 

The battered sign reads 

"Methodist Church 1880." 

Ornate black and red grillwork 

Bars the door a padlock seals. 

This place is unhappy. 

Churches should not be barred 

No matter how old 

Or that all their people are gone. 

Let the animals come to worship here 

If no one else remains. 

But the door remains locked and barred 

So the tourists look but don't touch. 

I can do nothing to help this one 

But sit a while and keep it company. 

The Rock 

By Fer Horn on 10-3-91 Thursday Port Campbell, Victoria 

"It is very hard to speak to a rock; they have such an odd sense of 

time and priorities." 

-Vanyel Ashkevron, Magic's Promise by Mercedes Lackey 

Twelve Apostles standing in the waves. 

I count 8, maybe 10. 

I wonder if they are all named. 

Did someone say, "This is Peter, 

'The rock on which I shall build my church', 

And this is John, the Beloved, 

And Judas, 'He who would betray', 

Or maybe Paul, called on the road to Damascus." 

But Damascus is a long way from here, 

And John is an odd name for a rock. 

It seems silly to name a rock 

For a disciple of a man who lived 

Long ago and far away. 

Perhaps I should ask the rocks 

What they call themselves; 

336 

Surely they have wondrous names. 

I expect they will be a long time in answering. 

Silence 

By Fer Horn on 10-22-91 Tuesday Silverton, New South Wales 

I never realize how unusual 

Silence is until I hear it. 

Everywhere you go now, 

There are birds, or planes 

Or the hum of a distant highway 

Or the murmur of the people you are with. 

Today, for just a moment, I heard the silence of the Outback, 

Where, as hard as you listen, 

The only thing to hear 

Is the wind flowing through the bush. 

And I felt like I was standing 

On the edge of eternity. 

Looking out over the plain 

Imagining what it looked like 

To the first person to stand here. 

Probably very much the same. 

And it will probably be the same 

For a long time to come. 

This is a place that is hard to live in. 

What truly belongs is not much; 

Just the wind and the bush 

And the eternal silence. 

May there always be places like this. 

By Randel Lee Peck 

The End of Mother Nature 

Deep dark sky, which makes me write 

clouds filled with her cottony breath 

turning black and green with an evil beyond our control 

MOTHER IS PISSED! 

For all we do is waste our water 

Pour pollutants into the sky 

And into our rivers and lakes; ruining the Earth; 

Destroying her soul! 

She has one way of getting back. 

I understand you can't take it anymore 

You just can't take the pressure of man too much, too much. 

You break open your womb at your faults 

The earth is shaking. 

I know you're crying, I almost drowned in your tears. 

And with one blow you can obliterate everything in your path. 

Lightning can stop anybody dead in their tracks. 

Drying up our water, crops, and life itself, 

You almost baked everything away 

with your radiant first born son, 

or you can freeze us all, bone chilling frozen 

hard as a rock. 

We've got to change and change now! 

Before it's too late! 

We have to protect this world, love it, and beautify it! 

I hope, have we still time? 

We have to stop our government 

From having one chance to destroy it all.

The world's end and neutralization, 

For I fear it will happen. 

But hopefully there will be somebody left on this earth 

And I will be one of them to survive. 

And to live on and teach our children 

The way things should be, 

Not, the way they are. 

Or were?................ 

By Randall Lee Peck 

HUE 

A ZOO WITH IN ZOO WITH IN A ZOO 

WITHIN THE 4 WALLS OF HUE. 

AND A COLLEGE RUN BY ADMINISTRATIVE FOOLS 

WITH A LYMAN LAKES NO CLEANER THAN A 

CESSPOOL 

THICK, GREEN, ROTTING, ROTTING SLIME IS ALWAYS 

ON MY MIND!!! 

By Randal Lee Peck 

Mother Superior 

Here I sit on the poetry rock 

and mother starts to talk 

I'm Mother Superior 

and I might cry! 

There's too much pollution 

and I might die! 

I'm the biggest, deepest, coldest 

and I'm scared 

I wish for the last few years 

somebody cared 

Untitled 

By Louise Wickenhauser in Earth Prayers From Around the 

World, ed. Liz Roberts and Elias Aniden 1991 Harper 

SanFrancisco. Used with permission 

Sensuous during life 

do not deny me in death! 

Wash me with scent of apple blossom. 

Anoint me with essence of lilac. 

Fill my veins with honeysuckle nectar. 

Sprinkle me with perfume of purple violets. 

Envelop me in shroud saturated with fragrance of freshly 

mown meadow hay. 

Rest me in moss velvet earth. 

Cover me with soil exuding flavor of maple and oak leaves. 

Command a white birch to stand guard! 

By Lawrence "Smiley" Revard 

From Ben Nevis 

I came from the sea to the sky 

and burnt the blunt bridge of my nose 

to an itching red crisp, 

trekking to the jutted head 

of Ben Nevis. Later, I hiked 

337 

the valleys alone to the mountainside 

above Gray Mare falls and onwards; 

I saw only one shrew and a few fleeing 

field mice, and felt thousands of midges. 

Along the way, I thought 

Scotland was half-dead with English blood. 

No bears, few eagles, few deer, no wolves, 

and a tide of tourists. 

In the unmountainous and untouristed scraggle 

of Oklahoma, I remembered crouching 

for a single half-hour and seeing six 

turkey-vultures and two marsh hawks 

ride updrafts past a sandstone crag. 

And I remembered hearing the deer 

rustle in the persimmon grove below. 

Once, in the tower of London (where 

several well-attended but alternatively 

maniacal and derisive ravens nip popcorn 

from Italian or American or French 

fingers,) I heard an American ask 

a portly Beefeater guard how 

he liked being on a bottle of gin. 

Well, he said, when off-duty. 

Atop Ben Nevis there was 

a monument to the young dead 

of World War I. There was also 

a peculiar and anonymous snow bird 

peeping low among the stones and 

the company of clouds was miles and miles. 

From there I could see 

the dead land was far below 

in history, like the ruins at Ludlow 

where (so I'm told) a lord named Lawrence 

held his castle carefully at the brambled edge 

of Wales, where one Bertilak and one 

Morgan le Fey had their hide-out. 

But this was mostly imagination: 

there was little to hear since the last thunder of British cannon 

volleys mowed down the Scots. 

There was little to see since the trees 

had fed the ships that fended off 

imperial onslaughts of Spain, 

France, and, at last, Germany. 

And I knew that even half my ancestry 

had flew their native tongue 

and the empty, gray-green hills. 

It is said that when the ravens 

in the Tower of London are dead, 

imperial England will no longer stand. 

Those six days on the highland trails, I 

saw not even a rabbit carcass, 

and never did a carrion-black shadow 

cross my path. 

The Hill of Three Oaks: Midwinter 1964 

A Haiku by Dick Smiley '66 

When the wind blows cold 

on the Hill of Three Oaks 

the hearth fire is warm.

Feb. 1, 1977 By Dale Fierbe 

Salutations! 

Salutations on this day of Oimelc! 

The Magnolias stand serenely in this winter wind. 

The pines shrug their branches 

Snow drops to the ground 

Unable to smother the spirit 

Of Evergreen. 

The Cedar whispers it's valiance 

The quiet sentinel while other 

Creatures and Flora 

Wait for the name of Spring to 

Brush past them, awakening them 

From their sleep. 

- Peace, Peace, Peace. 

By Chris Markwyn 

Wood Carving 

The wood couldn't begin to catch 

All of the light and life in its 

Sad poor-grained structure. The 

Polished flesh of some long-dead 

Oak, smoothly grainless, was 

Carved to artificial perfection by 

Some zealous artisan. 

Not alone I stood in the shop, 

Clutching my saw and knife in 

An all too sweaty hand. I look 

At what lies before me, and tremble 

At its pathetic presumption of merit. 

Shaking, I turn to the light 

That pours in 

Through the window, broken by 

The frame and the panes. I turn back 

To my creation to view it once more. 

Outside the sunlight, it lies dead and 

Cold, a lifeless bit of wood shaped 

Randomly into the face of a thing 

I do not know. 

By Chris Markwyn 

Someone Said My Name 

a name, subtly carved 

into the bark of some ancient oak, 

now warped and bent 

by the ravaging years 

a name, engraved on a door 

deep in the dimly lit dungeon 

of my heart; a chamber sealed 

by the weight of years 

a name, whispered in the dark, 

written on a crumpled page, 

spoken softly in the quiet 

hours of life's night 

a name unheard for years 

338 

A Book of Songs 

and Poetry 

Volume Three 1999 

Words from the Bards 


Modern folk-singers, like the bards of the past have their wisdom 

to share. At Carleton since the early 70s, Druidism and 

Folksinging were overlapping interests for many people. I offer 

you some songs, copyrighted of course, for your benefit or 

hindrance. They were mostly taken from "Rise Up Singing: The 

Group Singing Songbook" ISBN 0-9626704-7-2 (1992) spiral 

binding, ISBN 0-9626704-9-9 paperback binding. It's a personal 

selection, but also one that other Carleton Druids have enjoyed 

over the years. This was assembled in 1999, but first published in 

ARDA 2 in 2003, when he added a few songs by various authors 

at the end. 


Sir Gilbert de Veere 

Sir Gilbert de Veere was a virtuous knight. 

He fought for the just and he fought for the right, 

But he cherished one dream with all of his might; 

He wanted a Dragon to fight. 

He prayed all the night and he prayed all the day, 

That God would provide him a dragon to slay. 

God heard his prayers and considered a way 

To furnish Sir Gilbert his prey. 

God considered it and soon made command, 

But having no genuine Dragons at hand, 

God whisked Sir Gilbert to an earlier land. 

With destrier and armor and Brand. 

Then in the Cretaceous, Sir Gilbert de Veere 

Discovered a 40 foot carnosaur near. 

He dug in his spur and leveled his spear, 

And charged without flicker of fear. 

The lance struck a rib and the shaft split in twain, 

Sir Gilbert slapped a hand to his hilt, but in vain. 

The dinosaur swallowed that valorous thane, 

And thus Sir Gilbert was slain. 

But the armored apparel he wore for that ride, 

However was rough on that reptile's inside. 

The dinosaur presently laid down and died, 

And honor was thus satisfied. 

But, Sir Gilbert was no longer around to care, 

So hesitate to disturb God with your prayer. 

For He might answer it and then how you fare 

Is yours and no other’s affair.

Sounds of Silence 

Hello darkness my old friend 

I've come to talk to you again 

Because a vision softly creeping 

Left its seeds while I was sleeping 

And the vision that was planted in my brain 

Still remains- within the sounds of silence 

(Am-), G---/Am---/FC--/ /F----C-/Am-C G --Am--- 

In restless dreams I walk alone 

Narrow streets of cobblestone 

'Neath the halo of a street lamp 

I turned my collar to the cold & damp 

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light 

That split the night - & touched the sound of silence 

And in the naked light I saw 

10,000 people maybe more 

People talking without speaking 

People hearing without listening 

People writing songs that voices never shared 

No one dared disturb the sound of silence 

"Fools" said I "You do not know 

Silence like a cancer grows 

Hear my words that I might teach you 

Take my arms that I might reach you." 

But my words like silent raindrops fell 

And echoed in the well of silence 

And the people bowed & prayed 

To the neon god they'd made 

And the sign flashed out its warning 

In the words that it was forming 

And the sign said "The words of the prophets are written on 

subway walls 

And tenement halls - & whisper in the sounds of silence. 

-Paul Simon 

The Earth Is My Mother 

The earth is my mother * she's good to me * (*=echo) 

She gives me everything that I ever need 

Food on the table* the clothes I wear * 

The sun & the water & the cool, fresh air * 

C9C) Dm (Dm) / FC GC (FC GC):// 

Chorus: 

The earth is my mother and my best friend, too 

The great provider for and you (repeat) 

CEm FC/ FC GC :// 

Her ways are gentle, her life is strong 

Living in tune like a beautiful song 

There's only one thing she asks of me 

I treat her as kindly as she treats me 

-Carol Johnson 

Honor the Earth 

Look at her face, walk in her fields 

Savor her mountains, her forest, her valleys 

Tasting her winds, washed by her tides 

Growing like flow'rs in her soil, in her water 

339 

Hear when she weeps! Hear with the heart 

Tuned by our senses aware of time passing 

Surely our flesh bleeds as she bleeds 

Surely our bones are her dust, are her mountains 

Honor the earth & each other 


Am--Dm/Dm6--E://Am Dm6 Am Dm / E7---/Am--Dm/Dm6-- 

E/Am Dm Am Dm6/ AM Dm Am- 

Locked in our cells of concrete and steel 

Choked by the papers, the clutter, the chatter 

Blinded by mind, harnessed by fears 

Deaf to the cries and the calls of the mother 

Hear her at last! Know what we are 

Flesh that will die, but the death is no master 

Cherish the earth, silence that sings 

Touch the earth we give birth to the mother 



-Molly Scott 

Now is the Cool of the day 

1. The lord he said unto me 

Do you like my garden so fair? 

You may live in this garden if you keep the grasses green. 

And I'll return in the cool of the day 

Am E A-/Em-A-/--EmA/E7-A- 

Chorus: 

Now is the cool of the day (2x) 

O this earth is a garden, the garden of my Lord 

And he walks in his garden in the cool of the day 

Am E Am-/G-Am-/--G Am/ ---- C- Am- 

[Substitute these phrases into number 1] 

2. garden so pure? keep the waters clean 

3. pastures so green / feed all of my sheep 

4. garden so free / keep the people free 

-Jean Ritchie 

Solar Carol 

See the sun how bright it shines on the nations of the earth 

All who share this thing called life celebrate each day's rebirth 

D-AD (2x)/ //:DG-A D G A- DA DG DA:// 

Chorus: 

So-o-olar power, inexpensive energy (2x) 

Brother river, so you hear how the valley calls you down 

Send your rushing waters near, let the joyful hills resound 

Sister wind we've heard on high sweetly singing o'er the plain 

And the windmills in reply echoing their glad refrain 

How we love complexity when the answer's rather plain 

Join the sun in jubilee; sing with us this joyous strain 

-W: Adam Austill, Court Dorsey, Charlie Kind, Marcia Taylor 

-M: "Angels we have heard on high"

Prayer of St. Francis 

Make me a channel of your peace 

Where there is hatred, let me bring your love 

Where there is injury, your pardon, Lord 

And where there's doubt, true faith in you 

D---/--A-/----/- DA D- 


Where there's despair in life, let me bring hope 

Where there is darkness, only light 

And where there's sadness, ever joy 

(Bridge) O master grant that I may never seek 

So much to be consoled as to console 

To be understood, as to understand 

To be loved, as to love with all my soul 

G-D-/A-D-/G-D-/E-A- 


It is in pardoning that we are pardoned 

In giving to all men that we receive 

And in dying that we're born to eternal life 

-rewritten by Sebastian Temple 

Old Time Religion 

Chorus: 

Give me that old time religion (3x) 

And that's good enough for me 

E-/B7 E/-A/EB7 E 

We will pray to Aphrodite 

Even tho' she's rather flighty 

And they say she wears no nightie... 

& that's good enough for me (end of each verse) 

We will pray with those Egyptians 

Build pyramids to but our crypts in 

Cover subways with inscriptions 

O-old Odin we will follow 

And in fighting we will wallow 

Til we wind up in Valhalla... 

Let me follow dear old Buddha 

For there is nobody cuter 

He comes in plaster, wood, or pewter.... 

We will pray with Zarathustra 

Pray just like we useta 

I'm a Zarathrustra booster... 

We will pray with those old Druids 

They drink fermented fluids 

Waltzing naked thru the woo-ids.... 

Hare Krishna gets a laugh on 

When he sees me dressed in saffron 

With my hair that's only half on... 

We will pray to Loki 

He’s the Norse god of Chaos 

Which is why this verse don’t scan or rhyme… 

I'll arise at early morning 

When the sun gives me the warning 

340 

That the solar age is dawning... 

We will worship those old gods, 

Even though they call us clods 

Cause it gives us better odds… 

Teach Your Children 

You who are on the road 

Must have a code that you can live by 

And so, become yourself 

Because the past is just a good-bye 

C F/ C G :// 

Teach your children well 

Their father's hell did slowly go by 

And, feed them on your dreams 

The one they pick's the one you'll know by 

And don't you ever ask them why - if they tell you, 

You'll just cry so, just look at them and sigh 

And know they love you 

C F/ C G:// C F/ C AM FG/ C- 

And you, of tender years 

Can't know the fears that your elders grew by 

And so, please help them with your youth 

They seek the truth before they can die 

Teach your parents well 

Their children's hell did slowly go by 

And, feed them on your dreams 

The one they pick's the one you'll know by 

And don't you ever ask them why - if they tell you, 

You'll just cry so, just look at them and sigh 

And know they love you 

-Graham Nash 

Catch the Wind 

In the chilly hours and minutes of uncertainty I long to be 

In the warm hold of your loving mind 

To feel you all around me and to take your hand along the sand 

Ah but I might as well try and catch the wind. 

C F C F/C FG C G/ C F C F/ C FG CF C 

When sundown pales the sky, I want to bide awhile behind your 

smile 

And every where I'd look your eyes I'd find 

For me to love your now would be the sweetest thing, 'twould 

make me sing 


When rain has hung the leaves with tears I want you near to quell 

my fears 

To help me leave all my blues behind 

Standing near your soul is where I want to be, I long to be 


-Donovan Leitch 

God Bless the Moon 

I see the moon and the moon sees me 

God bless the moon and God bless me 

There's grace in the cabin and grace in the hall 

And the grace of God is over us all

ED E ED E//E-A-/B7- ED E 

I see the moon and the moon sees me 

The moon sees the somebody I want to see 

God bless the moon and God bless me 

And God bless the somebody I want to see 

-Jean Ritchie 

Morning Has Broken 

Morning has broken like the first morning 

Blackbird has spoken like the first bird 

Praise for the singing, praise for the morning 

Praise for the springing fresh from the word 

C-Dm G F C/- Em Am D G-/ C F - C Am D/ G C F G C (FC) 

Sweet the rain's new fall sunlit from heaven 

Like the first dew fall on the first grass 

Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden 

Sprung in completeness where His feet pass 

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning 

Born of the one light Eden saw play 

Praise with elation, praise every morning 

God's re-creation of the new day. 

-Eleanor Farjeon 

The Sound of Music 

The hills are alive with the sound of music 

With songs they have sung for a thousand years 

The hills fill my heart with the sound of music 

My heart wants to sing every song it hears 

C-Em-/ Dm-FG/C-Em-/CF G C- 

My heart wants to beat like the wings of the birds that rise 

From the lakes to the trees 

My heart wants to sigh like a chime that flies 

From a church on a breeze 

FG C/ FG C/ FG C/ D G 

To laugh like a brook when it trips and falls 

Over stones on its way 

To sing thru the night 

Like a lark who is learning to pray. 

FG C/ FG C/ FG C/ D G 

I go to the hills when my heart is lonely 

I know I will hear what I've heard before 

My heart will be blessed with the sound of music 

And I'll sing once more 

-W: Oscar Hammerstein II 

-M: Richard Rogers 

Nowhere Man 

He's a real Nowhere Man sitting in his Nowhere Land 

making all his nowhere plans for nobody 

Doesn't have a point of view, knows not where he's going to 

Isn't he a bit like you and me? 

ÃC G F C/F Fm C -:// 

(Bridge) 

Nowhere Man, please listen, you don't know what you're missing 

341 

Nowhere man, the world is at your command 

Em F Em F/ Em F - G 

He's as blind as he can be, just sees what he wants to see 

Nowhere Man can you see me at all? 

Doesn't have a point of view, knows not where he's going to 

Isn't he a bit like you and me? 

(Bridge 2) 

Nowhere Man, don't worry, take your time, don't hurry 

Leave it all till somebody else lends you a hand 

-John Lennon and Paul McCartney 

Here Comes the Sun 

Chorus: 

Here comes the sun (2x) and I say/ It's all right 

G-Cmaj7 A7/ G CG D7 

Little darlin' it's been a long cold lonely winter 

Little darlin' it feels like years since you've been hear 

G-C D7/ G-C D7 

Little Darlin' the smiles returning to their faces 

Little Darlin’ it feels like years since it's been here 

Little Darlin’ I feel the ice is slowly melting 

Little Darlin’ it feels like years since it's been clear 

-George Harrison 

May There Always be Sunshine 

May there always be sunshine 

May there always be blue sky 

May there always be mama 

May there always be me 

-W: Lev Oshanin/Thomas Botting 

-M: Arkadi Ostrovsky 

Hymn for the Russian Earth 

If the people lived their lives 

As if it were a song for singing out of light 

Provides the music for the stars 

To be dancing circles in the night 

-Yuri Zaritsky and Eugene Friesen 

I Circle Around 

I circle around (around, around) (2x) 

The bound'ries of the earth (the boundaries of the sky) 

Wearing my long-wing feathers as I fly (wearing...) 

-Arapaho 

We Are the Flow 

We are the flow, we are the ebb 

We are the weavers, we are the web 

Em - / EmC EM 

-Shekinah Mountain Water

Turning Toward the Morning 

When the deer is bedded down and the bear is gone to ground 

And the Northern goose has wandered off to warmer bay and 

sound 

It’s so easy in the cold to feel the darkness of the year 

And the heart is growing lonely for the morning 

C-F-/ C-FG-/C-F-/CGFC 

Chorus: 

O my Joanie don't you know that the stars are swinging slow 

And the seas are rolling easy as they did so long ago? 

If I had a thing to give you, I would tell you one more time 

That the world is always turning toward the morning 

G-C-/C-FG-/C-F-/CGFC 

Now October's growing thin and November's coming home 

You'll be thinking of the season and the sad things that you've 

seen 

And you hear that old wind walking, hear him singing high and 

thin: 

You could swear he's out there singing of your sorrows 

When the darkness falls around you and the North Wind comes to 

blow 

And you hear him call your name out as he walks the brittle snow 

That old wind don't mean you trouble, he don't care or even know 

He's just walking down the darkness toward the morning 

It's a pity we don't know what the little flowers know 

They can't face the cold November, they can't take the wind and 

snow 

They put their glories all behind them, bow their heads and let it 

go 

But you know they'll be there shining in the morning 

(Last Chorus) 

Now my Joanie don't you know that the days are rolling slow 

And the winter's walking easy as he did so long ago? 

And if the wind should come and ask you "Why's my Joanie 

weeping so?" 

Won't you tell him that you're weeping for the morning? 

-Gordon Bok 

Weave Me the Sunshine 

Chorus: 

Weave, weave, weave me the sunshine 

Out of the falling rain 

Weave me the hope of a new tomorrow 

And fill my cup again 

FGCAm/FGCAm/FGCAm/D-G- 

Well, I've seen the steel and the concrete crumble 

Shine on me again 

The proud and the might, all have stumbled 

Shine on me again 

Am-Em-/FGCAm/Am-D-/G-G7- 

They say that the tree of loving 

Shine on me again. 

Grows on the banks of the river of suffering 

Shine on me again. 

If only I can heal your sorrow... 

I'll help you to find a new tomorrow... 

342 

Only you can climb the mountain... 

If you want to drink at the golden fountain.... 

-Peter Yarrow 

River 

I was born in the path of the winter wind 

And raised where the mountains are old 

The springtime waters came dancing down 

And I remember the tales they told 

The whistling ways of my younger days 

Too quickly have faded on by 

But all of their memories linger on 

Like the light in a fading sky 

D-GD/--A-/D-GD/-AD- :// 

Chorus: 

River, take me along 

In your sunshine, sing me your song 

Ever moving and winding and free 

You rolling old river, you changing old river 

Let's you and me river run down to the sea! 

D Dmaj7 G A/ D Dmaj7 G A/ G-AD/ GDGD/GA-GD 

I've been to the city and back again 

I've been moved by some things that I've learned 

Me a lot of good people and I called them friends 

Felt the change when the seasons turned 

I heard all the songs that the children sing 

And listened to love's melodies 

I've felt my own music within me rise 

Like the wind in the autumn trees 

Someday when the flowers are blooming still 

Someday when the grass is still green 

My rolling waters will round me bend 

And flow into the open sea 

So here's to the rainbow that followed me here 

And here's to the friends that I know 

And here's to the song that's within me now 

I will sing it wherever I go 

-Bill Staines 

Today 

Today while the blossoms still cling to the vine 

I'll taste your strawberries and drink your sweet wine 

A million tomorrows will all pass away 

Ere I forget all the joy that is mine today 

C Am F G/C Am F G/C C7 F Fm/C Am Dm G - C (Am F G) 

I'll be a dandy and I'll be a rover 

You'll know who I am by the song that I sing 

I'll feast at your table and sleep in your clover 

Who cares what tomorrow shall bring? 

I can't be contented with yesterday's glories 

I can't live on promises winter to spring 

For now is my moment, today is my story 

I'll laugh and I'll cry and I'll sing 

-Randy Sparks

Turn, Turn, Turn 

Chorus: 

To everything -turn, turn, turn 

There is a season -turn, turn, turn 

And a time for ev'ry purpose under heaven 

A time to be born, a time to die 

A time to plant, a time to reap 

A time to kill, a time to heal 

A time to laugh, a time to weep 

G-C-/G-C-/G-C-/FGC- 

A time to build up, a time to break down 

A time to dance, a time to mourn 

A time to cast away stones 

A time to gather stones together (Very druidic, eh?) 

A time of war, a time of peace 

A time of love, a time of hate 

A time you may embrace 

A time to refrain from embracing 

A time to gain, a time to lose 

A time to rend, a time to sew 

A time to love, a time to hate 

A time of peace: I swear it's not too late! 

-W: Book of Ecclesiastes (adap. by Pete Seeger) 

The Brandy Tree 

I go down to the Brandy Tree 

And take my nose and tail with me 

All for the world and the wind to see 

And never come back no more 

(capo up) Am Em/EmAm Em/ Dm Em/ FG Am 

Down by the meadow marsh, deep and wide 

Tumble and Tangle by my side 

All for the westing wind to run 

And slide in the summer rain 

Sun come follow my happy way 

Wind come walk beside me 

Moon on the mountain, go with me 

A wondrous way I know 

C G/ C G/ Am Em/ FG Am 

I go down to the windy sea 

And the little gray seal will play with me 

Slide on the rock and dive in the bay 

And sleep on the ledge at night 

But the seal don't try to tell me how 

To fish in the windy blue 

Seal's been fishing for a thousand years 

And he knows that I have too 

When the frog goes down to the mud to sleep 

And the lamprey hides in the boulders deep 

I take my nose and tail and go 

A hundred thousand hills 

Sun come follow my happy way 

Wind come walk beside me 

Moon on the mountain, go with me 

A wondrous way I know 

343 

Someday down by the Brandy Tree 

I'll hear the Shepherd call for me 

Call me to leave my happy ways 

And the shining world I know 

Sun on the hill, come go with me 

My days have all been free 

The pipes come dancing down the wind 

And that's the way I go 

That's the way for me 

-Gordon Bok 

by Louis Armstrong 

I see trees of green, 

Red roses too. 

I seem them bloom 

For me and you 

I think to myself, 

What a wonderful world. 

I see skies of blue, 

And clouds of white, 

The bright blessed day, 

The dark sacred night. 

And I think to myself, 


Bridge: 

The colors of the rainbow 

So pretty in the sky 

Are also on the faces 

Of people going by. 

I see friends shaking hands 

Saying “How do you do?” 

They’re really saying 

“I love you.” 

I hear babies crying, 

I watch them grow. 

They’ll learn much more 

Then I’ll ever know. 

And I think to myself, 


What a Wonderful World 


I danced in the morning when the world was begun 

And I danced in the moon & the stars & the sun 

And I came down from heaven & I danced on the earth 

At Bethlehem I had my birth 

D---/A---/D----/A-GD 

Chorus: 

Dance, dance wherever you may be 

I am the Lord of the Dance said he 

And I'll lead you all wherever you may be 

And I'll lead you all in the dance, said he 

D---/--A-/D----/A-GD

I danced for the scribe & the Pharisee 

But they would not dance & they would not follow me 

I danced for the fishermen, for James & John 

They came with me & the dance went on 

I danced on the Sabbath & I cured the lame 

The holy people said it was a shame 

They whipped & they stripped & they hung me high 

And they left me there on a cross to die 

I danced on a Friday when the sky turned black 

It's hard to dance with the devil on your back 

They buried my body & they thought I was gone 

But I am the dance & I still go on 

They cut me down but I leaped up high 

For I am the dance that can never, never die 

I'll live in you if you'll live in me 

For I am the Lord of the dance, said he! 

-W: Sydney Carter 

-M: shaker hymn ("Simple Gifts") 

Simple Gifts 

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free 

"Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be 

And when we find ourselves in the place just right 

'Twill be in the valley of love & delight 

When true simplicity is gained 

To bow & to bend we won't be ashamed 

To turn, turn will be our delight 

Til by turning, turning we come 'round right 

D-/A-/D-/A GD// DA D/-A/D-/A GD 

-Traditional Shaker 


(short version) 

From a shaker tune, also known as "Simple Gifts" 

Then she danced on the waters and the wind was her form 

The lady laughed and everything was born 

She lit the sun and the light gave him birth 

The lord of the dance then appeared on the earth 

[chorus] 

Dance, then, wherever you may be 

For I am the lord of the dance, said he 

And I'll lead you all wherever you may be 

And I'll lead you all in the dance, said he 

I danced in the morning when the world was begun 

I danced in the moon and the stars and the sun 

I was called from the darkness by the song of the earth 

I joined in the singing and she gave me birth 

[chorus] 

I dance at the sabbat when you chant the spell 

I dance and sing that every one be well 

When the dance is over do not think I am gone 

I live in the music so I still dance on 

[chorus] 

344 

They cut me down but I leap up high 

I am the light that will never, never die 

I will live in you if you live in me 

I am the lord of the dance, said he 

[chorus] 

Circles 

Gwen Zak Moore, probably in mid 1970's. 

Tune: Windmills, by Alan Bell 

In days gone by, when the world was much younger, 

men wondered at Spring, born of winter's cold night; 

wondering at the games of the moon and the sunlight. 

They saw there the Lady and Lord of all life. 

Chorus: 

And around and around and around turns the good earth. 

All things must change as the seasons go by. 

We are the children of the Lord and the Lady 

Whose mysteries we know, but we never know why. 

In all lands the people were tied to the good earth 

Plowing and sowing as the seasons declared. 

Waiting to reap of the rich golden harvest, \ 

Knowing Her laugh in the joys that they shared. 

Chorus... 

Through Flanders and Wales and the green land of Ireland, 

in Kingdoms of England and Scotland and Spain, 

Circles grew up all along the wild coastline 

and worked for the land with the sun and the rain. 

Chorus... 

Circles for healing and working the weather, 

circles for knowing the moon and the sun, 

circles for thanking the Lord and the Lady, 

circles for dancing the dance never done. 

Chorus... 

And we who reach for the stars in the heavens, 

turning our eyes from the meadows and groves 

still live in the love of the Lord and the Lady. 

The greater the circle, the more the love grows. 

Chorus… 

The Rainbow Connection 

Why are there so many songs about rainbows 

And what’s on the other side? 

Rainbows are visions, but only illusions, 

And Rainbows have nothing to hid. 

So we’ve been told and some choose to believe it 

I know they’re wrong, wait and see. 

Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, 

The lovers, the dreamers and me. 

Who said that every wish would be heard and answered 

When wished on the morning star? 

Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it, 

And look what it’s done so far.

What’s so amazing that keeps us stargazing 

And what do we think we might see? 


The lovers, the dreamers, and me. 

Bridge: 

All of us under its spell, 

We know that it’s probably magic… 

Have you been half asleep? And have you heard voices? 

I’ve heard them calling my name. 

…Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors? 

The voice might be one and the same. 

I’ve heard it too many times to ignore it 

It’s something that I’m s’possed to be… 


The lovers, the dreamers, and me. 

Laaa, da daa dee da daa daa, 

La laa la la laa dee daa doo…. 

You Bash the Balrog 

By Lee Gold to the tune: Waltzing Matilda) 

From The Westerfilk Collection, Volume II, first printed in 

Alarums & Excursions 

Once a jolly cleric, and a magic-using Elf 

And a mighty Dwarf with a sword plus three 

Left their native village, out to get their share of pelf 

You bash the Balrog, and I’ll climb the tree. 

[Chorus]: 

You bash the Balrog, you bash the Balrog, 


[repeat last two lines of previous verse] 

First they met a Goblin, with a fire-breathing Hound. 

They bashed, and they smashed, and they scragged him with glee. 

Afterwards they searched him, and a magic potion found. 


[Chorus] 

The low-wisdom Swordsman picked it up and drank it down. 

Changed to a wolf immediately. 

No one could dispel it, so they headed back to town. 


[Chorus] 

Then a loud voice bellowed, "Who has slain the Goblin King?" 

Round turned our heroes; what did they see? 

Swooping down upon them was a Balrog on the wing. 


[Chorus] 

"Help!" screamed the Cleric. "Ditto!" yelled the Elven Mage. 

The wolf whimpered low, and he tried to flee. 

The Balrog fell upon them, and his flames began to rage. 


[Chorus] 

They ran through the forest, seeking for a place to hide. 

Pursued by the Balrog so fierce to see. 

"Wait," cried the Elf-mage. "I have got a plan," he lied. 

"You bash the Balrog, and I’lll climb the tree." 

[Chorus] 

345 

Once a mighty Balrog slew a cleric and an elf 

And a smallish wolf who had teeth plus three. 

Skinned them and tanned their hides and kept them on a closet 

shelf. 


(alternative end verse for people who like, nay insist, on happy 

endings) 

Once a mighty Balrog slew a jolly cleric and 

Skinned a smallish wolf who had teeth plus three. 

But the Elf got away, and he’s living with a Dryad band. 


Traditional 

[Chorus]: 

Ho Ro, the rattlin’bog 

The bog down in the valley-o 

Ho Ro, the rattlin’bog 

The bog down in the valley-o 

The Rattling Bog 

And in this bog, there was a tree 

A rare tree, a rattlin’ tree 

A tree, in the bog, (add lines here) 

And the bog down in the valley-o 

[Chorus] 

A limb on a tree... 

A branch on a limb... 

A twig on a branch... 

A nest on a twig... 

An egg in the nest... 

A bird on an egg... 

A wing on a bird... 

A feather on a wing... 

A flea on a feather... 

A mite on a flea... 

A smile on a mite... 

Burden of the Crown 

The battlefield is silent, the shadows growing wan 

Though I may view the sunset, I'll not live to see the dawn 

The leaves have ceased to rustle, the birds no longer sing. 

All nature seems to wonder at the passing of our king. 

And now you stand before me, your father’s flesh and blood 

Begotten of my sinew and the woman that I love 

So difficult the birthing, the mother died that day 

And now you stand before me to bear my crown away. 

The hour is fast approaching, when you come into your own 

When you take the Ring and Scepter and you sit upon the Throne 

Before that final hour, when we each must meet our fate 

Pray gaze upon the Royal Crown and marvel at its weight. 

This cap of burnished metal is the symbol of our land 

Supporting all we cherish, the dreams for which we stand 

The weight, you'll find, is nothing, when you hold it in your palm 

The burden of the crown begins the day you put it on. 

See how the jewel sparkles when you gaze at it again 

Each facet is a subject whose rights you must defend

Every point of light a burden you must shoulder with your own 

And mighty is the burden of the man upon the throne. 

My waiting now is over, my limbs are growing cold 

I can feel the angels waiting to receive my passing soul 

Keep well for me my kingdom when my memory is dead 

And forgive me for the burden I place upon your head. 

Lyrics: Leslie Fish 

What is Courage Now? 

What is courage now? 

Is it just to go until we're done? 

Men may call us heroes when 

They can say we've won 

But if we should fail, how then? 


Mountains to our side, 

Standing like a wall against the sky, 

Show no path to let us through 

But still we search and try 

Silver snow and stone cold blue. 

Mountains to our side. 

River from the pines; 

We can hear your echo far away. 

To your banks our step must lead 

Help us on our way 

We who know you learned your speed. 

River from the pines. 

Star above the world. 

Seeing down the ways that we must go 

Throw down light to guide a friend 

Or how else can we know 

If there's help where pathways end? 

Star above the world. 


In the hope we know that holds us fast, 

Bear us to that final door 

And win us free at last 

Or we touch this world no more 


-John Denver & Mike Taylor 

Rocky Mountain High 

He was born in the summer of his 27th year 

Comin' home to a place he'd never been before 

He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again 

You might say he found a key to every door 

When he first came to the mountains, his life was far away 

On a road and hangin' by a song 

But the sting's already broken and he doesn't really care 

It keeps changin' fast and it don't last for long 

C-FG/C-F-/CAmFG/C-F- 

But in the Colorado Rocky Mountain High 

I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky 

The shadows in the starlight are softer than a lullaby 

Rocky Mountain High -In Colorado (2x) 

FGC-/FGC-/FGCF-/C-F-/C-F- 

346 

He climbed cathedral mountains, he saw silver clouds below 

He saw everything as far as you can see 

And they say that he got crazy once and tried to touch the sun 

And he lost a friend but kept his memory 

Now he walks in quiet solitude, the forest and the streams 

Seeking grace in every step he takes 

His sight has turned inside himself to try and understand 

The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake 

Chorus (You can talk to God and listen to his casual reply) 

Now his life is full of wonder, but his heart still knows some fear 

Of the simple things he cannot comprehend 

When they try to tear the mountains down to bring in a couple 

more 

More people, more scars upon the land. 

Chorus (I know he'd be a poorer man if he never saw an eagle fly) 

Boy of the Country 

Words and music by Michael Murphy 

Sung by John Denver 

Because he called the forest brother 

Because he called the earth his mother 

They drove him out into the rain 

Some people even said the boy from the country was insane 

Because he spoke with fish in the creek 

He tried to tell us that the animals could speak 

Who knows, perhaps they do 

How do you know they don’t 

Just because they’ve never spoken to you 

Boy from the country, he left his home when he was young 

Boy from the country, he loves the sun 

He tried to tell us that we should love the land 

We turned our heads and laughed 

And we did not understand 

Sometimes I think that the boy from the country 

Is the only one who sees 

Because the boy from the country 

Doesn’t want to see the forest for the trees 

Boy from the country, he left his home when he was young 

Boy from the country, he loves the sun 

By John Denver 

Spirit 

His spirit joined and so was formed 

Ten thousand years ago 

Between the Swan and Hercules 

Where even dark clouds glow. 

To live with grace, to ride the swell, 

To yet be strong of will, 

To love the wind, to learn its song 

And empty space to fill.

Apollo taught me to rhyme, 

Orpheus taught me to play, 

Andromeda casts down her sign, 

And Vega lights my way. 

Smoke rings in a galaxy, 

An endless flight through time 

Lyra gave her harp to him 

And left him free to climb. 

A winter's journey from the moon 

To reach the summer sun, 

To rise again, to sing for you 

A song that's yet unsung. 

Apollo taught me to rhyme, 

Orpheus taught me to play, 

Andromeda casts down her sign, 

And Vega lights my way. 

By John Denver & Joe Henry 

Wind Song 

The wind is the whisper of our mother the earth 

The wind is the hand of our father the sky 

The wind watches over our struggles and pleasures 

The wind is the goddess who first learned to fly 

The wind is the bearer of bad and good tidings 

The weaver of darkness, the bringer of dawn 

The wind gives the rain, then builds us a rainbow 

The wind is the singer when sang the first song 

The wind is a twister of anger and warning 

The wind brings the fragrance of freshly mown hay 

The wind is a racer, a wild stallion running 

The sweet taste of love on a slow summer’s day 

The wind knows the songs of the cities and canyons 

The thunder of mountains, the roar of the sea 

The wind is the taker and giver of mornings 

The wind is the symbol of all that is free 

So welcome the wind and the wisdom she offers 

Follow her summons when she calls again 

In your heart and your spirit let the breezes surround you 

Lift up your voice then and sing with the wind 

By Bob Dylan 

Blowing in the Wind 

How many roads must a man walk down 

Before you call him a man? 

Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail 

Before she sleeps in the sand? 

Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly 

Before they're forever banned? 

The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, 

The answer is blowin' in the wind. 

How many times must a man look up 

Before he can see the sky? 

Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have 

Before he can hear people cry? 

Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows 

347 

That too many people have died? 



How many years can a mountain exist 

Before it's washed to the sea? 

Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist 

Before they're allowed to be free? 

Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head, 

Pretending he just doesn't see? 



Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right 

By Bob Dylan 

It ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe 

It don't matter, anyhow 

An' it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe 

If you don't know by now 

When your rooster crows at the break of dawn 

Look out your window and I'll be gone 

You're the reason I'm trav'lin' on 

Don't think twice, it's all right 

It ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe 

That light I never knowed 

An' it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe 

I'm on the dark side of the road 

Still I wish there was somethin' you would do or say 

To try and make me change my mind and stay 

We never did too much talkin' anyway 

So don't think twice, it's all right 

It ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal 

Like you never did before 

It ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal 

I can't hear you any more 

I'm a-thinkin' and a-wond'rin' all the way down the road 

I once loved a woman, a child I'm told 

I give her my heart but she wanted my soul 

But don't think twice, it's all right 

I'm walkin' down that long, lonesome road, babe 

Where I'm bound, I can't tell 

But goodbye's too good a word, gal 

So I'll just say fare thee well 

I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind 

You could have done better but I don't mind 

You just kinda wasted my precious time 

But don't think twice, it's all right 

By Bob Dylan 

Mr. Tambourine Man 

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, 

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to. 


In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you. 

Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand, 

Vanished from my hand, 

Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping. 

My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet, 

I have no one to meet 

And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.





Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship, 

My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip, 

My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels 

To be wanderin'. 

I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade 

Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way, 

I promise to go under it. 





Though you might hear laughin', spinnin', swingin' madly across 

the sun, 

It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run 

And but for the sky there are no fences facin'. 

And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme 

To your tambourine in time, it's just a ragged clown behind, 

I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're 

Seein' that he's chasing. 





Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind, 

Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves, 

The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach, 

Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow. 

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free, 

Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands, 

With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves, 

Let me forget about today until tomorrow. 





By Bob Dylan 

Too Much of Nothing 

Now, too much of nothing 

Can make a man feel ill at ease. 

One man's temper might rise 

While another man's temper might freeze. 

In the day of confession 

We cannot mock a soul. 

Oh, when there's too much of nothing, 

No one has control. 

Say hello to Valerie 

Say hello to Vivian 

Send them all my salary 

On the waters of oblivion 

Too much of nothing 

Can make a man abuse a king. 

He can walk the streets and boast like most 

348 

But he wouldn't know a thing. 

Now, it's all been done before, 

It's all been written in the book, 

But when there's too much of nothing, 

Nobody should look. 





Too much of nothing 

Can turn a man into a liar, 

It can cause one man to sleep on nails 

And another man to eat fire. 

Ev'rybody's doin' somethin', 

I heard it in a dream, 

But when there's too much of nothing, 

It just makes a fella mean. 





By Bob Dylan 

Watching the River Flow 

What's the matter with me, 

I don't have much to say, 

Daylight sneakin' through the window 

And I'm still in this all-night café. 

Walkin' to and fro beneath the moon 

Out to where the trucks are rollin' slow, 

To sit down on this bank of sand 

And watch the river flow. 

Wish I was back in the city 

Instead of this old bank of sand, 

With the sun beating down over the chimney tops 

And the one I love so close at hand. 

If I had wings and I could fly, 

I know where I would go. 

But right now I'll just sit here so contentedly 


People disagreeing on all just about everything, yeah, 

Makes you stop and all wonder why. 

Why only yesterday I saw somebody on the street 

Who just couldn't help but cry. 

Oh, this ol' river keeps on rollin', though, 

No matter what gets in the way and which way the wind does 

blow, 

And as long as it does I'll just sit here 


People disagreeing everywhere you look, 

Makes you wanna stop and read a book. 

Why only yesterday I saw somebody on the street 

That was really shook. 

But this ol' river keeps on rollin', though, 

No matter what gets in the way and which way the wind does 

blow, 

And as long as it does I'll just sit here 

And watch the river flow.

Watch the river flow, 

Watchin' the river flow, 

Watchin' the river flow, 

But I'll sit down on this bank of sand 


By Bod Dylan 

With God On Our Side 

Oh my name it is nothin' 

My age it means less 

The country I come from 

Is called the Midwest 

I's taught and brought up there 

The laws to abide 

And that land that I live in 

Has God on its side. 

Oh the history books tell it 

They tell it so well 

The cavalries charged 

The Indians fell 

The cavalries charged 

The Indians died 

Oh the country was young 

With God on its side. 

Oh the Spanish-American 

War had its day 

And the Civil War too 

Was soon laid away 

And the names of the heroes 

I's made to memorize 

With guns in their hands 

And God on their side. 

Oh the First World War, boys 

It closed out its fate 

The reason for fighting 

I never got straight 

But I learned to accept it 

Accept it with pride 

For you don't count the dead 

When God's on your side. 

When the Second World War 

Came to an end 

We forgave the Germans 

And we were friends 

Though they murdered six million 

In the ovens they fried 

The Germans now too 

Have God on their side. 

I've learned to hate Russians 

All through my whole life 

If another war starts 

It's them we must fight 

To hate them and fear them 

To run and to hide 

And accept it all bravely 

With God on my side. 

But now we got weapons 

Of the chemical dust 

If fire them we're forced to 

Then fire them we must 

349 

One push of the button 

And a shot the world wide 

And you never ask questions 

When God's on your side. 

In a many dark hour 

I've been thinkin' about this 

That Jesus Christ 

Was betrayed by a kiss 

But I can't think for you 

You'll have to decide 

Whether Judas Iscariot 

Had God on his side. 

So now as I'm leavin' 

I'm weary as Hell 

The confusion I'm feelin' 

Ain't no tongue can tell 

The words fill my head 

And fall to the floor 

If God's on our side 

He'll stop the next war. 

By Bob Dylan 

A Hard Rain’s Going to Fall 

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son? 

Oh, where have you been, my darling young one? 

I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains. 

I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways. 

I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests. 

I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans. 

I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard. 

And its a hard, and its a hard, and it's a hard 

And it's a hard rain's a gonna fall. 

Oh what did you see, my blue-eyed son? 

Oh, what did you see, my darling young one? 

I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it. 

I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it. 

I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin', 

I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin' 

I saw a white ladder all covered with water. 

I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken, 

I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children, 

And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, 

And it's a hard rain's a gonna fall. 

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son? 

And what did you hear, my darling young one? 

I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin', 

Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world, 

Hear one hundred drummers whose hand were a-blazin' 

Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin', 

Heard on person starve, I heard many people laughin', 

Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter, 

Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley, 

And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, 

And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall. 

Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son? 

Who did you meet, my darling young one? 

I met a young child beside a dead pony 

I met a white man who walked a black dog 

I met a young woman whose body was burning 

I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,

I met one man who was wounded in love, 

I met another man who was wounded with hatred, 

And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, 

It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall. 

Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son? 

Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one? 

I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a fallin', 

I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest, 

Where the people are many and their hands all empty, 

Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters, 

Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison, 

Where the executioner's face is always well hidden, 

Where hunger is ugly, where none is the number, 

And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it, 

And reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it, 

Then I'll stand on the ocean until start sinkin', 

But I'll know my song well before I start singin' 

And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, 

It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall. 

Bob Dylan’s Dream 

This song always reminds me of the joys of Druidism when I was 

a college student. I hope you find the song and learn to sing it. 

While riding on a train goin' west, 

I fell asleep for to take my rest. 

I dreamed a dream that made me sad, 

Concerning myself and the first few friends I had. 

With half-damp eyes I stared to the room 

Where my friends and I spent many an afternoon, 

Where we together weathered many a storm, 

Laughin' and singin' till the early hours of the morn. 

By the old wooden stove where our hats was hung, 

Our words were told, our songs were sung, 

Where we longed for nothin' and were quite satisfied 

Talkin' and a-jokin' about the world outside. 

With haunted hearts through the heat and cold, 

We never thought we could ever get old. 

We thought we could sit forever in fun 

But our chances really was a million to one. 

As easy as it was to tell black from white, 

It was all that easy to tell wrong from right. 

And our choices were few and the thought never hit 

That the one road we traveled would ever shatter and split. 

How many a year has passed and gone, 

And many a gamble has been lost and won. 

And many a road taken by many a friend, 

And each one I've never seen again. 

I wish, I wish, I wish in vain, 

That we could sit simple in that room again, 

Ten thousand dollars at the drop of a hat 

I'd give it all gladly if our lives could be like that. 

350 

Box of Rain 

Words by Robert Hunter; music by Phil Lesh 

Look out of any window 

any morning, any evening, any day 

Maybe the sun is shining 

birds are winging or 

rain is falling from a heavy sky – 

What do you want me to do, 

to do for you to see you through? 

this is all a dream we dreamed 

one afternoon long ago 

Walk out of any doorway 

feel your way, feel your way 

like the day before 

Maybe you'll find direction 

around some corner 

where it's been waiting to meet you – 


to watch for you while you're sleeping? 

Well please don't be surprised 

when you find me dreaming too 

Look into any eyes 

you find by you, you can see 

clear through to another day 

I know it's been seen before 

through other eyes on other days 

while going home – 


to do for you to see you through? 

It's all a dream we dreamed 

one afternoon long ago 

Walk into splintered sunlight 

Inch your way through dead dreams 

to another land 

Maybe you're tired and broken 

Your tongue is twisted 

with words half spoken 

and thoughts unclear 

What do you want me to do 

to do for you to see you through 

A box of rain will ease the pain 

and love will see you through 

Just a box of rain – 

wind and water – 

Believe it if you need it, 

if you don't just pass it on 

Sun and shower – 

Wind and rain – 

in and out the window 

like a moth before a flame 

It's just a box of rain 

I don't know who put it there 

Believe it if you need it 

or leave it if you dare 

But it's just a box of rain 

or a ribbon for your hair 

Such a long long time to be gone 

and a short time to be there

Rosemary 

Words by Robert Hunter; music by Jerry Garcia 

Boots were of leather 

A breath of cologne 

Her mirror was a window 

She sat quite alone 

All around her 

the garden grew 

scarlet and purple 

and crimson and blue 

She came and she went 

and at last went away 

The garden was sealed 

when the flowers decayed 

On the wall of the garden 

a legend did say: 

No one may come here 

since no one may stay 

By Nancy Byrd Turner 

Death is a Door 

Death is only an old door 

Set in a garden wall; 

On gentle hinges it gives, at dusk 

When the thrushes call. 

Along the lintel are green leaves, 

Beyond the light lies still; 

Very willing and weary feet 

Go over that still 

There is nothing to trouble any heart; 

Nothing to hurt at all. 

Death is only a quiet door 

In an old wall. 

St. Stephen 


Saint Stephen with a rose 

In and out of the garden he goes 

Country garland in the wind and the rain 

Wherever he goes the people all complain 

Stephen prosper in his time 

Well he may and he may decline 

Did it matter? does it now? 

Stephen would answer if he only knew how 

Wishing well with a golden bell 

Bucket hanging clear to hell 

Hell halfway twixt now and then 

Stephen fill it up and lower down 

And lower down again 

Lady finger dipped in moonlight 

Writing `what for?' across the morning sky 

Sunlight splatters dawn with answers 

Darkness shrugs and bids the day goodbye 

351 

Speeding arrow, sharp and narrow, 

What a lot of fleeting matters you have spurned 

Several seasons with their treasons 

Wrap the babe in scarlet covers call it your own 

Did he doubt or did he try? 

Answers aplenty in the bye and bye 

Talk about your plenty, talk about your ills 

One man gathers what another man spills 

Saint Stephen will remain 

All he's lost he shall regain 

Seashore washed by the suds and the foam 

Been here so long he's got to calling it home 

Fortune comes a crawlin, Calliope woman 

Spinning that curious sense of your own 

Can you answer? Yes I can, 

but what would be the answer to the answer man? 

High green chilly winds and windy vines in loops around the 

twining shafts of lavender, they're crawling to the sun 

Underfoot the ground is patched with climbing arms of ivy 

wrapped around the manzanita, stark and shiny in the 

breeze 

Wonder who will water all the children of the garden when they 

sigh about the barren lack of rain and droop so hungry 

'neath the sky... 

William Tell has stretched his bow till it won't stretch no 

furthermore and/or it may require a change that hasn't come 

before 

Uncle John’s Band 


Well, the first days are the hardest days, 

don't you worry anymore 

When life looks like Easy Street 

there is danger at your door 

Think this through with me 

Let me know your mind 

Wo-oah, what I want to know 

is are you kind? 

It's a Buck Dancer's Choice, my friend, 

better take my advice 

You know all the rules by now 

and the fire from the ice 

Will you come with me? 

Won't you come with me? 

Wo-oah, what I want to know, 

will you come with me? 

Goddamn, well I declare 

Have you seen the like? 

Their walls are built of cannonballs, 

their motto is Don't Tread on Me 

Come hear Uncle John's Band 

by the riverside 

Got some things to talk about 

here beside the rising tide 

It's the same story the crow told me 

It's the only one he know – 

like the morning sun you come 

and like the wind you go 

Ain't no time to hate,

arely time to wait 

Wo-oah, what I want to know, 

where does the time go? 

I live in a silver mine 

and I call it Beggar's Tomb 

I got me a violin 

and I beg you call the tune 

Anybody's choice 

I can hear your voice 

Wo-oah what 

I want to know, 

how does the song go? 


by the riverside 

Come with me or go alone 

He's come to take his children home 


playing to the tide 

Come on along or go alone 

he's come to take his children home 

Mountains of the Moon 


Cold Mountain water 

the jade merchant's daughter 

Mountains of the Moon, 

Bow and bend to me 

Hi ho the Carrion Crow 

Folderolderiddle 

Hi Ho the Carrion Crow 


Hey Tom Banjo 

Hey a laurel 

More than laurel 

You may sow 

More than laurel 

You may sow 

Hey the laurel 

Hey the city 

In the rain 

Hey, hey, 

Hey the white wheat 

Waving in the wind 

20 degrees of solitude 

20 degrees in all 

All the dancing kings & wives 

assembled in the hall 

Lost is a long & lonely time 

Fairy Sybil flying 

All along the all along 

the Mountains of the Moon 

Here is feast of solitude 

A fiddler grim and tall 

Plays to dancing kings and wives 

Assembled in the hall 

Of lost, long, lonely times 

Fairy Sibil flying 

All along the all along 

the Mountains of the Moon 

352 

Hey Tom Banjo 

It's time to matter 

The Earth will see you 

on through this time 

The Earth will see you on 

through this time 

Down by the water 

The Marsh King's Daughter 

Did you know? 

Clothed in tatters 

Always will be 

Tom, where did you go? 

Mountains of the Moon, Electra 


All along the 

All along the 



Folderolderiddle 



Bend to me 

By Stan Rogers 

Giant 

Cold wind on the harbor and rain on the road 

Wet promise of winter brings recourse to coal 

There's fire in the blood and a fog on Bras d'Or 

The giant will rise with the moon. 

'Twas the same ancient fever in the Isles of the Blessed 

That our fathers brought with them when they went west 

It's the blood of the Druids that never will rest 


So crash the glass down! Move with the tide! 

Young friends and old whiskey are burning inside. 

Crash the glass down! Fingal will rise 

With the moon. 

In inclement weather the people are fey 

Three thousand year stories as the night slips away 

Remembering Fingal feels not far away 


The wind's from the north, there be new moon tonight 

And we have no circles to dance in it's sight 

So light a torch, bring the bottle, and build the fire bright 


So crash the glass down! Move with the tide! 

Young friends and old whiskey are burning inside. 

Crash the glass down! Fingal will rise 

With the moon.

Watch the Field Behind the Plow 


Watch the field behind the plow turn to straight, dark rows 

Feel the trickle in your clothes, blow the dust cake from your nose 

Hear the tractor's steady roar, Oh you can't stop now 

There's a quarter section more or less to go 

And it figures that the rain keeps its own sweet time 

You can watch it come for miles, but you guess you've got a 

while 

So ease the throttle out a hair, every rod's a gain 

And there's victory in every quarter mile 

Poor old Kuzyk down the road 

The heartache, hail and hoppers brought him down 

He gave it up and went to town 

And Emmett Pierce the other day 

Took a heart attack and died at forty two 

You could see it coming on 'cause he worked as hard as you 

In an hour, maybe more, you'll be wet clear through 

The air is cooler now, pull you hat brim further down 

And watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows 

Put another season's promise in the ground 

And if the harvest's any good 

The money just might cover all the loans 

You've mortgaged all you own 

Buy the kids a winter coat 

Take the wife back east for Christmas if you can 

All summer she hangs on when you're so tied to the land 

For the good times come and go, but at least there's rain 

So this won't be barren ground when September rolls around 

So watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows 


Watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows 



Delivery Delayed 

How early is "Beginning"? From when is there a soul? 

Do we discover living, or, somehow, are we told? 

In sudden pain, in empty cold, in blinding light of day 

We're given breath, and it takes our breath away. 

How cruel to be unformed fancy, the way in which we come – 

Over-whelmed by feeling and sudden loss of love 

And what price dark confining pain, (the hardest to forgive) 

When all at once, we're called upon to live. 

By a giant hand we're taken from the shelter of the womb 

That dreaded first horizon, the endless empty room 

Where communion is lost forever, when a heart first beats alone 

Still, it remembers, no matter how its grown. 

We grow, but grow apart – 

We live, but more alone – 

The more to see, the more to see, 

To cry aloud that we are free 

To hide our ancient fear of being alone. 

353 

And how we live in darkness, embracing spiteful cold 

Refusing any answers, for no man can be told 

That delivery is delayed until at last we're made aware 

And first reach for love, to find 'twas always there. 


Mary Ellen Carter 

She went down last October in a pouring driving rain. 

The skipper, he'd been drinking and the Mate, he felt no pain. 

Too close to Three Mile Rock, and she was dealt her mortal blow, 

And the Mary Ellen Carter settled low. 

There were five of us aboard her when she finally was awash. 

We'd worked like hell to save her, all heedless of the cost. 

And the groan she gave as she went down, it caused us to 

proclaim 

That the Mary Ellen Carter would rise again. 

Well, the owners wrote her off; not a nickel would they spend. 

She gave twenty years of service, boys, then met her sorry end. 

But insurance paid the loss to them, they let her rest below. 

Then they laughed at us and said we had to go. 

But we talked of her all winter, some days around the clock, 

For she's worth a quarter million, afloat and at the dock. 

And with every jar that hit the bar, we swore we would remain 

And make the Mary Ellen Carter rise again. 

Rise again, rise again, that her name not be lost 

To the knowledge of men. 

Those who loved her best and were with her till the end 

Will make the Mary Ellen Carter rise again. 

All spring, now, we've been with her on a barge lent by a friend. 

Three dives a day in hard hat suit and twice I've had the bends. 

Thank God it's only sixty feet and the currents here are slow 

Or I'd never have the strength to go below. 

But we've patched her rents, stopped her vents, dogged hatch and 

porthole down. 

Put cables to her, 'fore and aft and girded her around. 

Tomorrow, noon, we hit the air and then take up the strain. 

And watch the Mary Ellen Carter Rise Again. 

For we couldn't leave her there, you see, to crumble into scale. 

She'd saved our lives so many times, living through the gale 

And the laughing, drunken rats who left her to a sorry grave 

They won't be laughing in another day... 

And you, to whom adversity has dealt the final blow 

With smiling bastards lying to you everywhere you go 

Turn to, and put out all your strength of arm and heart and brain 

And like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again. 

Rise again, rise again - though your heart it be broken 

And life about to end 

No matter what you've lost, be it a home, a love, a friend. 

Like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again.

By Stand Rogers 

Witch of the Westmoreland 

Pale was the wounded knight, that bore the rowan shield 

Loud and cruel were the raven's cries that feasted on the field 

Saying "Beck water cold and clear will never clean your wound 

There's none but the witch of the Westmoreland can make thee 

hale and sound" 

So turn, turn your stallion's head 'til his red mane flies in the wind 

And the rider of the moon goes by and the bright star falls behind 

And clear was the paley moon when his shadow passed him by 

Below the hills were the brightest stars when he heard the owlet 

cry 

Saying "Why do you ride this way, and wherefore came you 

here?" 

"I seek the Witch of the Westmorland that dwells by the winding 

mere" 

And it's weary by the Ullswater and the misty brake fern way 

Til through the cleft in the Kirkstane Pass the winding water lay 

He said "Lie down, my brindled hound and rest ye, my good grey 

hawk 

And thee, my steed may graze thy fill for I must dismount and 

walk, 

But come when you hear my horn and answer swift the call 

For I fear ere the sun will rise this morn ye will serve me best of 

all" 

And it's down to the water's brim he's born the rowan shield 

And the goldenrod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield 

And wet she rose from the lake, and fast and fleet went she 

One half the form of a maiden fair with a jet black mare's body 

And loud, long and shrill he blew til his steed was by his side 

High overhead the grey hawk flew and swiftly did he ride 

Saying "Course well, my brindled hound, and fetch me the jet 

black mare 

Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk, and bring me the maiden 

fair" 

She said "Pray, sheathe thy silvery sword. Lay down thy rowan 

shield 

For I see by the briny blood that flows you've been wounded in 

the field" 

And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue, bound round with a 

silver chain 

And she's kissed his pale lips once and twice and three times 

round again 

And she's bound his wounds with the goldenrod, full fast in her 

arms he lay 

And he has risen hale and sound with the sun high in the day 

She said "Ride with your brindled hound at heel, and your good 

grey hawk in hand 

There's none can harm the knight who's lain with the Witch of the 

Westmorland." 

354 


Volume Four 2000 

Older Selections 

Druid Chronicler, Dec 1978 

By Julia Vinograd 

An Invocation Poem: 

Use praise of the Goddess for the God 

Use praise of the God for the Goddess 

Only the Goddess can invoke the God 

Only the God can invoke the Goddess 

If they both come at once the worshippers get drenched 

There is only one God 

and He is whoever the Goddess is in love with at the moment 

There is only one Goddess 

and She is whoever the God is in love with at the moment 

Eternity has a lot of moments. 

By David Geller, mid 70s. 

O Danny Boy 

O Danny Boy if words could e'er recall you 

To walk again 'neath Pagan Irish skies 

Then would I sing, 'til voice be taken from me 

And light and life be faded from my eyes. 

Too long, too long, your blood's been wasted flowing 

To water seeds of wars that have no name 

Where brothers die for quarrels past recalling 

Nor caring aught for Ireland's agony and shame. 

So turn again, the silver Stag is running 

With blooded eye in groves beneath the moon 

The songs of old still whisper through the oak trees 

Where ancient breezes pipe our long-forgotten tune 

O Danny Boy, if words could e'er recall you 

to walk again 'neath Pagan Irish skies 

Then would I sing, 'til voice be taken from me 

And light, and life itself be faded form my eyes. 

The Lair of Great Cthulhu 

(Tune: Chattanooga Choo-Choo) 

By Larry Press, mid 70s 

Pardon me’ boy- Is this the lair of Great Cthulhu? 

In the city of slime, 

Where it is night all the time. 

Bob Hope never went 

Along the road to Great Cthulhu, 

And Tripple-A has no maps 

And all the Cho-Chos lay traps. 

You'll see an ancient sunken city where the angles are wrong. 

You'll see the fourth dimension if you're there very long 

Come to the conventicle. 

Bring along your pentacle; 

Otherwise you'll be dragged off by a tentacle.

A mountain's in the middle, with a house on the peak: 

'A gnashin' and a thrashin ' and a clackin ' of beak. 

Your soul you will be lackin ' 

When you see that mighty kraken. 

Oo-oo! Great Cthulhu's starting to speak. 

So come on aboard, 

Along the road to Great Cthulhu. 

Wen-di'-gos and Dhols 

Will make Big Macs of our souls. 

Under the sea, ~ 

Down in the ancient city of Rilyeh, 

In the lair of Great Cthulhu, 

They'l1 suck your soul away! 

(Great Cthulhu, Great Cthulu, Suck your soul! Great Cthulhu, 

Great Cthulhu) 

In the lair of Great Cthulhu, They'll suck your soul away. 

(Here, there is an obligatory saxophone solo, a la Tex Beneke) 

Huntress by Paladin 

A huntress is She. 

In virginal white She fares the pale of night 

With carnivore intent: All innocent 

Of praise or blame or any virtue bearing mortal name or 

measurable dimension.... 

A moonlit mist-wrapp't rose is She, or so appears to be, Who 

Flowering, reveals some wild and iridescent thing 

that waits in coiled repose and quite conceals: 

Intention. 

-–She'd seem to yield––a White Queen's gambit leading surely to 

checkmate. 

––And lo! springs forth some fool or hero glad to seize upon such 

bait 

He's lost! His heart 

'twill cost him, for: 

She feasts upon such things 

And mayhap, "Pass the Salt" She sweetly sings to one of Her 

exalted company the whiles She dabs Her dainty lips with 

samite spun of spider-silk 

She's of that ilk at very least that things the world a toy or shake 

they sky 

But it's Her special Joy, to 

Take whatever beast may catch Her Eye: 

Her taut bow bent like crescent moon, 

Swift arrows, then the boon, She grants, with glee A huntress is 

She. 

By Deborah Frankel Bender 

Winter 

Then you come before the old woman. Who is the true head of 

your coven. Blindfold, hands bound, naked, (It is lawful for 

me to tell you this, since You know it already) And she says 

to you "Please me." 

Women have a better chance of getting through it. 

We've had more practice 

Coping with unreasonable demands, 

Our resources always inadequate. 

Men get bad habits 

Dealing from strength: 

They tend to stick at the first step 

("Define the problem") 

Few come out of that room with their own bodies on them. 

You come before the old woman Who is the true head of your 

coven. Blindfold, hands bound, naked. She is waiting for 

you. Small talk, charm, and habits will not help you with 

355 

her. She has seen it all. She knows more than you do. She is 

easily bored. 

You must come before the old woman 

Stripped naked, 

And she says to you, 

"You're back. What did you bring me?" 

What will you offer her? Clean hands? A pure heart? Hers are not. 

She is not. She is an old woman. She has seen everything 

done everything, endured everything. She is responsible for 

everything. 

Then your least fear is knowledge Of the whip by her hand. 

Witch, what was your training? Embrace everything. Use 

everything. Cherish everything. Fear nothing. 

So you come before the old woman and dance before her Made to 

improvise. Hobbled by the rope. Tough to keep your 

balance. Naturally she laughs. At you wobbling and 

whistling. She laughs, reminded of the juggler she loved 

once. She sends you out again. 

Goddess Gift –Joyce L. Baker 

The bodies entwined appear as one, 

For this, indeed they are, 

The song of love escapes their lips, 

Is carried near and far 

On the wings of ecstasy, 

They rise and they do soar, 

This feeling it wit never end 

For love will e'er endure. 

Two bodies–God and Goddess are United perfectly. 

Their joy exposed, so openly, 

For all the world to see. 

Their feelings are eternal 

The same they'll always be, 

From dawn of time to man's demise 

United–Perfectly. 

The fire of Life flows through their veins 

Their voices rise and fall, 

Their ecstasy–adrift of Love 

From she who created all. 

-Jeffrey Andrew Young 

Winter’s Ending 

Come the goat-man, man of Springtime, 

Savior of the Winter's ending. 

Come from mountains, come and enter 

This, the sad, stiff human figure, 

For his mind is numbed with Winter, 

Lain neglected since rememb'ring, 

And his hands are stiffened branches, 

Frozen bones that have no feeling. 

Strike the fire deep within him, 

Fire to melt this icy thinking. 

Passion sings within him somewhere, 

Laughter lies awake, awaiting 

Some necessity inside him: 

To awaken him from slumber. 

Now the dead man's mind grows restless, 

Fingers yearn for warmer flesh, 

Rememb'ring souls that once had touched him, 

Breathing bodies he was near to. 

Goat-man draw him ever onward 

Through the slush of dying Winter 

Where his memories await him 

In Spring's gentle restlessness.

Lament of the Witch 

–Morninq Glory– Ohoyo Cjsh Chishba 

I may not go to the festival... 

All this month I have sewn costumes. 

Gathered nuts and baked cakes. 

I have strung beads and berries for 

the children to wear. 

All this my people have taken from me 

And they have said: "It is good." 

I have borne children, I have woven mats 

'I have carved masks, I have washed clothing , 

AII this my tribe has taken from me and they have said: "It is 

good." 

But when the sea change comes, my body 

begins to flow. My woman spirit to 

gather power and force. 

Large drops of blood 

drip 

slowly and then gush forth. 

My magick is strongest, my feelings 

are deepest; my knowledge is surest.. 

Now, more than ever I am 

A woman of power. 

All this my tribe has refused - and they have said: "It is bad." 

And when l touched my genitals to 

give myself pleasure,. 

When I made images to call the spirits... 

When I refused the husband chosen for me... 

And every, every moon when my body know its bloody power... 

AII this my tribe has refused me - 

My shadow pollutes, the rainbow serpent is angered, my lover 

shuns me, 

I am cursed, diseased, reviled. Men retch at my scent; avoidably 

footprints. 

Banished from my home, forbidden the festivities... 

I remember the medicine 

The man's words to me at my puberty ritual: "You must be as 

Mother Earth... 

Humble and fruitful. 

You must not touch any holy thing or a man's possessions. 

You are dangerous to yourself and to the tribe;. to bleed is to be 

sick... 

you must be set apart for your moon and give thanks to God that 

He has spared you life when you cease to bleed." 

Hog. 

So spoke the wise man. 

Old fool! I AM like Mother Earth, she who bleeds and does not 

die. 

Only for men in blood linked with sickness and death. I am a 

woman... 

my blood 

The sacred tools...our foremothers made them. 

Once the houses were ours...we built them. 

Once the rituals were ours...we wrote them. 

Once the moon hut was for our own seclusion...we sought it for 

privacy. 

Now, the tools are forbidden 

the houses belong to our fathers 

the rituals are led by men 

the moon hut is our prison 

and our bodies are the source of our shame. 

What has happened? Why did things change? How has this come 

to be? 

–Long ago– 

The old men say: Women were punished for their pollution...for 

their bleeding. They angered the Gods." 

356 

–Long ago– The old women say: "Men became jealous of our 

power, and they stole everything." 

We shared our bread, our fires, our homes, our tools, our magick, 

our knowledge, our bodies... We shared. - 

They had only one thing we did not give them; one skill we did 

not teach them. They had the use of weapons... and they did no 

share that. They turned it against us. 

The old women say: "Let us kneel down in the mud, crawling 

along! 

We leave it for them, for our Brothers, 

We leave the world for them 

for they want it that way." 

I will not sing this song, looking out through the window of the 

moon hut and hearing the songs and laughter of my people. 

I will not sing this song. 

I mark my cheeks with my 

Dark Blood. 

I will sing a song to the Goddess... who is stronger than the 

weapons of Men. 

I will sing a song to my sisters who are wiser than the lies of Men. 

I will sing a song to my daughter who will bear the future of Men. 

My song is a song about power, about loving, about sharing, 

about changing 

I will sing about the future I will weave a web of fate 

I will sow a seed of doubt I will tell a tale of tomorrow. 

I mark my forehead with my 

Dark Blood... 

...and I wait. 

Oimelc Hymn 

1979 Anodea and Selene lead Robert Larsen's -0imelc Hymn" (to 

band 1, side 1 of "Durch die WustelDesert," by HANS JOACHIM 

ROEDELIUS.) Hymn is done in plainchant style (leaders chant 

each line, all repeat): 

The days are short the heavens dark, the Mother sleeps. 

The trees are bare the north wind stalks, the Mother sleeps. 

The nights are long and full of fright, the Mother sleeps. 

But the ewe gives birth the ewe gives milk, the Mother stirs. 

The Mother smiles with dreams of life, She will return. 

And on that day will we rejoice, when She returns. 

Long the day bright the sky, when She returns. 

Green the trees soft the breeze, when She returns. 

Short the night our fires alight ,when She returns! 

O Mother 

Blend your milk with ours. 

Give us nourishment 

To strengthen our spirits 

As well as our bones. 

As we drink 

From your breast 

Pour your light in 

Through our hearts, 

To dance in our cells, 

To glow with our eyes. 

Through us 

Your light spirals & spreads 

Out our fingers 

Oimelc Blessing 

1979 -Selene Bonewits

To all we touch 

And on... 

To heal the Earth 

And to heal the people of the Earth 

So that we may live & die 

In harmony with your rhythm. 

1979 by Ailean MacGregor 

Oimelc Poem 

Music filling the magical air whirling motion of dancing spirals of 

energy flowing from within the centre point of flame 

Bleary eyed children of Brighid inebriated on the fruits of 

Dionysus celebrate Her mysteries around the cauldron fire 

The Mother's milk is raised in salute to Her myriad aspects as 

sister and brother revel in the warmth of Her smile 

Five times the magick point did merge into the star which 

illuminated the night while mushroom eating lovers huddled 

together and dreamt of the coming of the Spring 

By Anodea Judth 

Let It All Happen 

Let the water fall, Let the water fall 

Let the water fall on the earth 

Let the trees grow tall, Let the water fall 

Let the greenery grow on the earth. 

Let the greenery grow, let the greenery grow 

Let the greenery grow on the Earth 

Let the trees grow tall, let the water fall 

Let the greenery grow on the Earth 

Let the air blow clean…. 

Let the water run clear… 

Let the seals swim free… 

By Anodea Judith 

Goddesses, Goddesses Song 

CHORUS: Goddesses, Goddesses, Got to have Goddesses. 

Got to have Goddesses roaming above. 

Goddesses, Goddesses, got to have Goddesses 

Got to have Goddesses ruling with love. 

In the ancient days of old, 

Goddesses ruled the heavens I’m told 

That was known as the time of mirth 

When there were many who worshipped the earth. 

When you’re in need and you call on the Goddess 

Her strength will illumine your wisdom within 

The Goddess, she answers with laughter and dances 

As we on the Earth become Pagan again. 

When you’re in crisis, then just call on Isis 

Her silvery horns will take troubles away. 

We dance in the moonlight, the sunlight and starlight 

And know that the world will better someday. 

357 

All of the Earth is just one big home 

Where all the Gods and the Goddesses roam 

Look to the forest you’ll see what I mean 

Love of the Goddess will keep the Earth clean. 

Love is Lord of All 

Where gentle tides, go rolling by 

Along the salt sea strand 

The colors blend and roll as one 

Together in the sand 

And often do the winds entwined 

To send their distant call 

The quiet joys of brotherhood 

And love is lord of all 

Where oat and wheat together rise 

Along the common ground 

The mare and stallion, light and dark 

Have thunder in their sound 

The rainbow sign, the blended flood 

Still hold my heart in thrall 

The quiet joys of brotherhood 

And love is lord of all 

But men have come to plow the hide 

The oat lies on the ground 

I hear their fires in the field 

The drive the stallion down 

The roses bleed, both like and dark 

The winds do seldom call 

The running sands recall the time 

When love was lord of all. 

By Anodea Judith 

Let the Spirit Come To You 

Let the spirit come to you 

Through you renew you 

Let the love shine on to you 

Pursue you undo you 

Let the light shine above you 

Be of you that loves you 

Let the peace settle in you 

Within you, begin you. 

We Are One Family 

We are the children of the Earth 

She is our Mother! 

Offspring of the Sun god’s bright mirth 

He is our Father! 

We have our siblings in the air, on the land, in the sea… 

Chorus: We are one family. 

We are one family 

Kin to the whale and the dove. 

We are one family. 

We are one family. 

Joined by the strength of our love, of our love, 

Joined by the strength of our love.

The dolphin so free and alive 

She is our sister! 

The wolf who must kill to survive 

He is our brother! 

We are the cousins of the eagle who soars in ecstasy… 

Sequoia and bristlecone pine 

They are ancestors! 

The cactus and mushroom divine 

We are related! 

The D.N.A. that runs through us all is the key… 

Throughout all of time and of space 

Life has been granted! 

Every intelligent race 

We have been planted! 

And those who have sown the seed now await patiently… 

Lughnasadh Dance 

Lyrics by: Gwydion Pendderwen 

Recorded on: "Songs for the Old Religion," Gwydion 

Pendderwen, 1975; "Once Around the Wheel," Ian Corrigan, 

1987 (Association for Consciousness Exploration, 1643 Lee Rd 

#9, Cleveland Heights, OH 44118) 

Subject: Sabbats - Lughnasadh 

Lugh the light of summer bright clothed all in green 

Tailtu his mother true, rise up and be seen 

Chorus: 

At your festival sound the horn, calling the people again, 

Child of Barleycorn, newly summerborn, ripening like the grain. 

Lugh grew tall from spring to fall, and sought to find a wife 

But Balor came and made his claim and vowed to take his life 

The two did fight from morn 'till night and Lugh did strike him 

one; 

And Balor's eye flew in the sky and there became the sun 

Lugh was wed and made his bed with Erinn in the north, 

And there they lay through many a day and soon a child came 

forth 

The child grew tall from spring to fall, Setanta was his name, 

And then at length, by honor's strength, CuChulainn he became! 

358 

Erec, Erec, Erec, 

Mother of Earth 

Hail to thee, Earth, 

Mother of men! 

Be fruitful in 

God’s embrace 

Filled with food 

For the use of men. 

Selections from 

the Missal-Any 

Erec, Erec Erec 

Vehicle Chant 

This was written down in the Lech book circa 950 A.D. in 

England. It is the ancient Indo-European Earth Mother and Sky 

Father, despite five hundred years of Christian influence. March 

1982 Druid Missal-Any 

Vehicles have figured in Paleo-pagan literature, and I was 

surprised to come across the trade name in the middle of some old 

Norse material. (Spring Equinox, 1983, Tom Cross) 

Wotan went down 

To the Underworld 

There to revive the Volvo... 

Han San went to 

Cold Mountain, 

Received the Magic 

Melon in a dream, and 

Took the sacred Citreons 

From the throne 

Of the Divine King 

Buddha in his Lotus sat 

The Mayan War god 

Had his Jaguar 

Hera rode a Silver Cloud 

(R.R. of course) 

Aphrodite prized her Opel 

But remember 

Robin held the Ford. 

Sliabh g’Cua. 

Haunt of Wolves 

Rugged and Dark 

The wind wails 

About its glens 

Wolves how ‘round 

Its chams. 

The great brown stag 

Bells there in autumn 

The crane screams 

Over its craigs 

(Ninth Century Bardic) 

Mount Cua

Hymn to the Three Brighids 

Verse for Oimelc by Thomas M. Cross 

Alternative Syllabic Verse in English 

Brighid brought us the burning coals 

Bright mistress of hearth warmthness 

Blessed midwives and milk-cows 

Barreness banished from us. 

Blessed Brighid, Queen of Nature 

Daughter of the Dagda comes. 

On Oimelc we salute thee 

Feeding kindling in fire. 

Three Brighids as the winter breathes 

Three nights and three heroes born. 

On the three hills high fires burn. 

Shall we bring our new offering? 

(Brighid is pronounced Breed or Breej for proper rhythm) 

Oimelc 1985 

Druid’s Chant 

Great voice that calls us in the wind of dawn, 

Strange voice that stills us in the heat of noon, 

Heard in the sunset, 

Heard in the moonrise 

And in the stirring of the wakeful night, 

Speak now in blessing, 

Chide us no longer, 

Great voice of love, we will not grieve thee more. 

-Donated by Willow Oak, who is a Millay fan found this in a 

book , Collected Poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay where it is 

designated as a previously unpublished poem. It was written for 

a Tree Ceremony at Vassar College in 1915. So the “greatest 

American lyric poet” remembered the “Oak-Men,” as one 

derivation of “Druid” holds it to mean. Printed in Spring Equinox 

1985 

Blessing for Bannock Bread 

Oidhch Inid 

Be feoil again 

‘S bu choir ‘uinn sin 

Bu choir ‘uinn shin 

Leth-cheann circe, 

‘S da ghreim eorna, 

‘S bu leoir ‘uinn sin 

Bu leoir ‘uinn sin. 

Bi bin againn, 

Bi beoir againn, 

Bi fion againn, 

Bi roic againn. 

Meilc is marrum, 

Mil is bainne, 

Sile fallain, 

Meall dheth sin, 

Meall dheth sin. 

Beannachadh Brathain 

359 

Bi cruit againn, 

Be clar againn, 

Bi dus againn, 

Bi das againn; 

Bi saltair ghrinn, 

Nan teuda binn, 

‘S bi fairchil, righ’nn 

Nan dan againn, 

Nan dan againn. 

On Ash Eve 

We shall have flesh, 

We should have that 

We should have that. 

The cheek of hen, 

Two bits of barley, 

That were enough 

That were enough. 

We shall have mead, 

We shall have spruce, 

We shall have wine, 

We shall have feast. 

We shall have sweetness 

Honey and milk, 

Wholesome ambrosia, 

Abundance of that, 

Abundance of that. 

We shall have harp, 

We shall have harp, 

We shall have lute, 

We shall have horn. 

We shall have psaltery 

Of the melodious strings 

And the regal lyre, 

Of the songs we shall have 

Of the songs we shall have. 

Fall Equniox, 1985 

Quern Blessing 

Ogma Incantation 

Here is an incantation to an Oghma like figure of “Sun-like 

Countenance” from the Scottish oral folk tradition. The Preceptor 

has used it and gives testimony of its utility. 

“The litigant went at morning dawn to a place where three 

streams met. And as the rising sun gilded the mountain crests, the 

man placed his two palms edgeways together and filled them with 

water from the junction of the streams. Dipping his face into this 

improvised basin, he fervently repeated the prayer:” 

Ionnlaidh mise m’aodann 

‘S na naodh gatba greine 

Mar a dh’ionnlaid Moire a Mac 

Am bainne brac na breine. 

Gaol a bhi ‘na m’aodann 

Caomh a bhi ‘na m’ghnuis, 

Caora meala ‘na mo theanga, 

M’annail mar an tuis.

Is dubh am bail ud thall, 

Is dubh daoine th’ann; 

Is mis an eala bhan, 

Banruinn os an ceann. 

Falbhaidh mi an ainme Dhe, 

An riochd feidh, an riochd each, 

An riochd nathrach, an riochd righ: 

Is treasa lion fin na le gach neach. 

I will wash my face 

In the nine rays of the sun, 

As Mary washed her Son* 

In the rich fermented milk. 

Love be in my countenance, 

Benevolence in my mind, 

Dew of honey in my tongue, 

My breath as the incense. 

Black is yonder town, 

Black are those therein, 

I am the white swan, 

Queen above them. 

I will travel in the name of God, 

In likeness of deer, in likeness of horse, 

In likeness of serpent, in likeness of king: 

Stronger will it be with me than with all persons. 

*A later introjection which does not rhyme. Yule 1985 

Deidre Remembers a Scottish Glen 

Glen of fruit and fish and pools, 

Its peaked hills of loveliest wheat, 

It is distressful for me to think of it— 

Glen of bees, of long-horned wild oxen. 

Precious is its cover to every fox; 

Glen of wild garlic and watercress, 

Of woods, of shamrock and flowers, leafy and twisting-crested. 

Sweet are the cries of the brown-backed dappled deer 

Under the oakwood above the bare hill-tops, 

Gentle hinds that are timid, 

Lying hidden in the great-treed glen. 

Glen of the rowans with scarlet berries, 

With fruit fit for every flock of birds; 

A slumberous paradise for the badgers 

In their quiet burrows with their young. 

Glen of the blue-eyed vigorous hawks, 

Glen abounding in every harvest, 

Glen of the ridged and pointed peaks, 

Glen of blackberries and sloes and apples. 

Glen of the sleek brown round-faced otters 

That are pleasant and active in fishing; 

Many are the white-winged stately swans, 

And salmon breeding a long the rocky brink. 

Glen of the tangled branching yews, 

Dewy glen with level lawn of kine; 

Chalk-white starry sunny glen, 

Glen of graceful pearl-like high-bred women. 

-A Druid Missal-any Oimelc 1986 

360 

May-Time 

May-time, fair season, perfect is thy aspect then; blackbirds sing a 

full song, if there be a scanty beam of day. 

The hardy, bushy cuckoo calls, welcome noble summer! It calms 

the bitterness of bad weather, the branching wood is a 

prickly hedge. 

Summer brings low the little stream, the swift herd makes for the 

water, the long hair of the heather spreads out, the weak 

white cotton-grass flourishes. 

...The smooth sea flows, season when the ocean falls asleep; 

flowers cover the world. 

Bees, whose strength is small, carry with their feet a load reaped 

from the flowers; the mountain allures the cattle, the ant 

makes a rich meal. 

The harp of the wood plays melody, its music brings perfect 

peace; colour has settled on every hill, haze on the lake of 

full water. 

The corncrake clacks, a strenuous bard; the high pure waterfall 

sings a greeting to the warm pool; rustling of rushes has 

come. 

Light swallows dart on high, brisk music encircles the hill, tender 

rich fruits bud... 

...The hardy cuckoo sings, the speckled fish leaps, mighty is the 

swift warrior. 

The vigour of men flourishes, the glory of great hills is unspoiled; 

every wood is fair from crest to ground, fair each great 

goodly field. 

Delightful is the season's splendour, winter's rough wind has 

gone; bright is every fertile wood, a joyful peace is summer. 

A flock of birds settles...; the green field re-echoes, where there is 

a brisk bright stream. 

A mad ardour upon you to race horses, where the serried host is 

ranged around; very splendid is the bounty of the cattlepond, 

the iris is gold because of it. 

A timid persistent frail creature sings at the top of his voice, the 

lark chants a clear tale - excellent May-time of calm aspect! 

Irish, author unknown, ninth-tenth century 

Beltaine 1986 

Suibhne Wild Man In The Forest 

Little antlered one, little belling one, melodious little bleater, 

sweet I think the lowing you make in the glen. 

Home sickness for my little dwelling has come upon my mind, 

the calves in the plain, the deer on the moor. 

Oak, bushy, leafy, you are high above trees; hazel, little branchy 

one, wisdom of hazel nuts. 

Alder, you are not spiteful, lovely is your colour, you are not 

prickly where you are in the gap. 

Blackthorn, little thorny one, black little sloe bush; water-cress, 

little green-topped one, on the brink of the blackbird’s well. 

Saxifrage of the pathway, you are the sweetest of herbs; cress, 

very green one; plant where the strawberry grows. 

Apple tree, little apple tree, violently everyone shakes you; rowan, 

little berried one, lovely is your bloom. 

Bramble, little humped vine, you do not grant fair terms; you do 

not cease tearing me till you are sated with blood. 

Yew, little yew, you are conspicuous in graveyards; ivy, little ivy, 

you are familiar in the dark wood. 

Holly, little protector, door against the wind; ash-tree, baneful, 

weapon in the hand of the warrior. 

Birch, smooth, blessed, proud, melodious, lovely is each 

entangled branch at the top of your crest. 

Aspen, as it trembles from time to time I hear its leaves rustle and 

think it is the foray…

It is on my lonely journey I were to search the mountains of the 

dark earth, I would rather have the room for a single hut in 

great Glenn mBolcain. 

Good is its clear blue water, good its clean stern wind, good its 

cress-green watercress, better its deep brooklime. 

Good its pure ivy, good its bright merry willow, good its yewy 

yew, better its melodious birch… 

-Irish; author unknown; 12th Century. 

Beltaine 1986 

Stock Market Crash 

In the old Legends 

Fairie gold turned back to withered leaves 

The next day. It shoe and lured 

Only in Elfland. 

And by enchantment. 

Money is like that. 

On the stock market the climbing numbers 

Increase and multiply and now 

Nothing but paper, 

Fit only to write a poem on the back. 

Elfland. Wall Street. 

Wherever we believe and then 

No longer believe. 

All over the country the experts are saying 

It’s a matter of faith: 

Clap your hand 

And Tinker bell will get well 

And the economy will get well, 

And well, we’ll see. 

Money has always been strange. 

It’s only real when you don’t have it. 

Even the sparechanger with a handful of coins 

Is never sure. 

They might refuse to serve him. 

They have before. 

The Dow Jones 

Is just another Jones to feed. 

Everyone needs money to eat 

But on one can eat paper. 

Where did all this paper come from? 

Withered leaves, 

Fit only for burning 

By Julia Vinograd 

From her latest book, Graffiti, Zigeist Press. Write 2500 Druant, 

Suite 409, Berkeley 94704 

Published in Samhain 1988 

Mad Sweeney News 

Welsh; John Ceiriog Hughes; 1833-87. 

-Published A Druid Missal-Any #4, Spring Equinox 2001 

Mountain stream, clear and limpid, wandering down 

towards the valley, whispering songs among the rushes—oh, that 

I were as the stream! 

Mountain heather all in flower—longing fills me, at the 

sight, to stay upon the hills in the wind and the heather. 

Small birds of the high mountain that soar up in the healthy 

wind, flitting from one peak to the other—oh, that I were as the 

bird! 

361 

Son of the mountain am I, far from home, making my song; 

but my heart is in the mountain, with the heather and the small 

birds. 

Chapter of Not Having to 

Move Furniture in the Other World 

Whoso knows this spell will have all his weekends free in Amenta. 

May I not be forced to move furniture in the other world. That 

which is large, awkward, and extremely heavy, with sharp corners 

– may I not be forced to lift it. 

The sofa – “I break your back” is its name; it does not fit through 

any door. I shall not carry the sofa; I shall not lift one end of the 

sofa. 

The chest of drawers – “I fall on your foot” is its name. I shall 

not move the chest of drawers; I shall not carry even one drawer. 

The pile of book boxes – it towers unto the ceiling; “pyramid of 

Khufu” is its name. I shall not carry one box; I shall not carry one 

book. 

The waterbed – of myriad pieces is it made; no man knows their 

number. I shall not carry one piece; I shall not attempt to fit two 

pieces together. 

I shall not move furniture in the other world, and all my weekends 

will be my own, for millions of years. 

-Obscure Chapter of the Egyptian Book of the Dead. 

- Samhain 1986 Druid Missal-Any 

Hatching Blessing 

Bu tu fein an deagh nabaidh agus an caraide caomh. Ma’s a 

h’e agus gun ruig thu null fearann do dhuthchais agus duthaich do 

bhreith, agus gum feumair thu tilleadh a nall dh’an fhonn-sa 

rithist, that mise cur mar bhoid agus mar bhriathar ort, agus mar 

naoi riaraiche nam bana-sith, thu dhol gu ruig Cladh Michell ann 

an Ormacleit, an Uibhist, agus thu thoir as a sin thugam-sa 

deannan beag urach a churar air clar mo chridhe-sa la mo bhais. 

I will rise early on the morning of Monday, 

I will sing my rune and rhyme, 

I will go sunwise with my cog 

To the nest of my hen with sure intent. 

I will palce my lef hand to my breast, 

My right hand to my heart, 

I will seek the loving wisdom of Him 

Abundant in grace, in broods, and in flocks. 

I will close my two eyes quickly, 

As in blind-man’s bluff moving slowly; 

I will stretch my lef hand over thither 

To the nest of my hen on yonder side. 

This is a hatching spell pecuiliar to this egg-time of year, 

from the Scottish Highlands, circa 1800. In the Gaidhlig 

introduction by the collector, Alexander Carmicheal, there is a 

quote from the 102 year old lady from whom he collected this and 

other runes. In it she tells of the customs, purely pagan, of 

placing a bit of the native soil on the breast of a corpse before

urial. This is a custom I have heard from many sources in the 

Neo-pagan community, and from my Celtic relatives as a child. 

However, this is the first “academic” reference or precedent I 

have been able to uncover. It may have been a part of the Ancient 

Druid funeral rites, or from an even older Pagan stratum. I have 

heard it called the “releasing soil” now-a-days. It could well be 

incorporated into N.R.D.N.A. traditions. We would appreciate 

any feedback anyone out there has on this. 

From the Carmina Gadelica 

-Oimelc 1987 Druid Blessing 

To The Sun 

Greeting to you, sun of the seasons, as you travel the skies on 

high, with your strong steps on the wing of the heights; you are 

the happy mother of stars. 

You sink down in the perilous ocean with harm and without hurt, 

you rise up on the quiet wave like a young queen in flower. 

-Scottish Gaelic; traditional prayer. 

Cairoll Callaig 

Nis tha mis air tighinn dh’ur duthaich 

A dh’urachadh dhuibh na Callaig; 

Cha leig mi leas a dhol ga innse, 

Ban I ann ri linn ar seanar. 

Dirim ris an ardorus, 

Teurnam ris an starsach, 

Mo dhuan a ghabail doigheil, 

Modhail, moineil, maineil. 

Caisean Callaig ‘na mo phoca, 

Is mor an ceo thig as an ealachd. 

Gheibh fear an taighe ‘na dhorne e, 

Cuiridh e shorn anns an teallach; 

Theid e deiseil air na paisdean, 

Seachd ar air bean an taighe. 

Bean an taigh is i is fhiach e, 

Lamh a riarach oirnn na Callaig, 

Sochair bheag a bhlath an t-samhraidh, 

Tha mi’n geall air leis an arain. 

-Gaidhlig Original 


Hogmanay Carol 

I am now come to your country, 

To renew to you the Hogmanay, 

I need not tell you of it, 

It was in the time of our forefathers. 

I ascend by the door lintel, 

I descend by the doorstop, 

I will sing my song becomingly, 

Mannerly, slowly, mindfully. 

The Hogmanay skin is in my pocket, 

Great will be the smoke from it presently. 

The house-man will get it in his hand, 

He will place its nose in the fire; 

He will go sunwards round the babes, 

362 

And for seven verities round the housewife. 

The housewife it is she who deserves it, 

The had to dispense to us the Hogmanay, 

A small fist of the bloom of summer, 

Much I wish it with the bread. 

-English Translation 


Calluinn a Bhuilg #63 

Calluinn Ho! This rune is till repeated in the Isles. Rarely, 

however, do two persons recite it alike. This renders it difficult to 

decide the right form of the words. The walls of the old houses in 

the West are very thick –from five to eight feet. There are no 

gables, the walls being of uniform height throughout. The roof of 

the house being raised from the inner edge of the wall, a broad 

terrace is left on the outside. Two or three stones project from the 

wall at the door, forming steps. ON these the inmates ascend for 

purposes of thatching and securing the roof in time of storm. 

Calluinn a bhuilg, 

Calluinn a bhuilg 

Buail am boicionn, 

Buail am boicionn. 


Calluinn a bhuilg 

Buail an craicionn, 

Buail an craicionn. 



Sios e! suas e! 

Buail am boicionn. 



Sios e! Suas e! 

Buail an craicionn. 


Calluinn a bhuilg. 

-Yule 1988 Druid Missal-any 


Hogmanay of the Sack 

The “gillean Callaig” carolers or Hogmanay lads perambulate to 

the townsland at night. One man is enveloped in the hard hide of 

a bull with the horns and hoofs still attached. When the men 

come to a house they ascend the wall and run around sunwise, the 

man in the hid shaking the horns and hoofs, and the other men 

striking the hard hide with sticks. The appearance of the man in 

the hide is gruesome, while the din made is terrific. Having 

descended and recited their runes at the door, the Hogmanay men 

are admitted and treated to the best in the house. Their 

performance seems to be symbolic, but of what it is not easy to 

say, unless of laying an evil spirit. That the rite is heathen and 

ancient is evident. 

Hogmanay of the sack, 


Strike the hide, 

Strike the hide. 



Beat the skin, 

Beat the skin. 


Hogmanay of the sack,

Down with it! Up with it! 

Strike the hide. 



Down with it! Up with it! 

Beat the skin. 



-Yule 1988 Druid Missal-any 


Eolas an Deididh 

The teeth of ancient human skeletons found in stone coffins 

and other enclosures and without enclosures are usually good and 

complete. This is in marked contrast tot the teeth of modern 

human remains, which are generally much impaired if not wholly 

absent. But there must have been toothache and even artificial 

teeth in ancient times, as indicated by the mummies in Egypt and 

the toothache charms and toothache wells in the Highlands. One 

toothache well is in the island of North Uist. It is situated 195 

feet above the sea, at the foot of a hill 757 feet high, and nearly 

three miles in the moorland from the nearest townland. The place 

is called “Cuidh-airidh,” shieling fold, while the well is variously 

known as “tobar Chuidh-airidh,” well of the shieling fold.” 

“Tobar and deididh,” well of the toothache, “tobar na cnoidh,” 

well of the worm, and “tobar cnuimh fhiacail,” well of the tooth 

worm, from a belief that toothache is caused by a worm in the 

tooth. 

The General name of the well is “tobar Chuidh-airidh,” well 

of the shieling fold, to distinguish it from other healing wells 

throughout the Isles. The pilgrim suffering from toothache must 

not speak, nor eat, nor drink, after beginning the pilgrimage till 

after three draughts of the well of Cuidh-airidh are drunk in the 

name of God, and in name of Christ, and in name of Spirit. 

Some persons profess to derive no relief, some profess to derive 

partial relief, and some profess to derive complete relief from 

toothache after drinking the water of the well of Cuidh-airidh. 

Ob a chuir Bride bhoidheach 

Romh ordag Mathar De, 

Air mhir, air lion, air chorcraich, 

Air chnoidh, air ghoimh, air dheud. 

Achnoidh a rinn domh deistinn, 

Air deudach mo chin, 

Ifrinn teann da m’dheud, 

Deud ifrinn da mo theinn. 

Deud ifrinn da mo theann; 

Am fad’s is maireann mi-fein 

Gu mair mo dheud am cheann. 

Doighean eile: 

Air mhir, air chir, air chnodaich. 

Air mhuir, air chuan, air chorsa. 

Air li, air lionn, air liogradh. 

363 

TRANSLATION 

The incantation put by lovely Bride 

Before the thumb of the Mother of God, 

On lint, on wort, on hemp, 

For worm, for venom, for teeth. 

The worm that tortured me, 

In the teeth of my head, 

Hell hard by my teeth, 

The teeth of hell distressing me. 

The teeth of hell close to me; 

As long as my teeth last in my head. 

Variants: 

On lint, on comb, on agony. 

On sea, on ocean, on coast. 

On water, on lakes, on marshes. 

-Spring Equinox 1989 Druid Missal-Any 

From the Carmina Gadelica. 



And horse that carried off the prize 

Once I had plenty of them: 

A blessing on the king who granted them. 

My body seeks to make its way 

To the house of judgement; 

When the Son of God thinks it time, 

Let him come to claim his loan. 

My arms when they are seen 

Are bony and thin 

Dear was the craft they practiced, 

They would be around glorious kings… 

I envy nothing that is old 

Except the Plain of Femhen; 

Though I have donned the thatch of age, 

Femhen’s crown is still yellow. 

The Stone of the Kings in Femhen, 

Ronan’s Fort in Breghon, 

It is long since storms first reached them, 

But their cheeks are not old and withered… 

I have had my day with kings, 

Drinking mead and wine; 

Today I drink whey and water 

Among shriveled old hags… 

The flood-wave, 

And the swift ebb; 

What the flood brings you 

The ebb carries from your hand. 

Happy is the island of the great sea, 

For the flood comes to it after the ebb; 

As for me, I don not expect 

Flood after ebb to come to me. 

Beltane 1989 Druid Missal-Any

Beltaine Fire Invocation 

Bhride 

Firedancer 

In the many hued arms of flame 

Daggers of light contained in the chalice of the sky, 

Overflowing with stars 

Bright with the song of a thousand souls. 

Dance with us, our lives would in a glistening threads 

Above the spokes of the universe, 

Braided into the umbilical cord of the navel of the Earth. 

Teach us to kindle our inner fire, 

And dance our lives in the weavings of flame, 

The fire that enkindles the heart into spiraling song. 

Bhride 

Firesinger, 

Voice leaping with the strength of many deer 

Into the gates of starlight 

Where the ancient flames soar. 

Sing with us, our lives as the weavings of song 

On the loom of the many stringed sky 

Reflected in the inner sky of the spirit. 

Teach us to light our inward flame, 

And sing our lives into rising smoke 

The fire that burns behind the eyes of all souls 

And laughs in the cosmic dance of the universes’ music. 

May 1989 by Blue Moon Eagle. 

Emmon the Filidh 

With Apologies to Elizabeth Barrett’s Husband 

Go crazy along with me! 

The best is yet to see. 

The outer reaches of the mind, 

For which the mundane brain was made 

To work and keep us fed. 

Who saith: “A whole I planned.” 

A Sea of Holes, to other realms 

Sanity is but a closet. 

Trust in your Gods: see all, 

Nor be afraid. 

-Samhain 1989 Druid Missal-any 

Give Me a Hidden Rill 

Give me a hidden rill 

A house free of noise and distraction 

Birds help me to sing 

Overhead white clouds for neighbors 

Nobody asking the fate of this or that noble family 

Just this Hazel tree, now-a-days 

Starting up from beside its spring 

For how many years?” 

-Circa 10 th Century 

Samhain 1989 

364 

To Display Our Own Magic 

Druidical druthers, they cave be so clean 

Your wizard works hard to not ever be seen 

Moving the novels to remove their dust 

And wiping the shelves more free of their lust 

We cudgel our brain 

Till his answers lie bare 

In the drolleries chapter 

That describes why we care. 

Fletch Dewly 

Yule 1989 Druid Missal-any 

Dearest Vivian 

Lady of the Lake she walks before me 

Controlling each image I happen to see 

Vibrant her wish that the magic may spring 

Our minds further out and deep within 

Her veil and her dress both flow to command 

That the book that she holds 

All must understand 

Pages with spells and others with prayers 

Or so they’re defined 

By our mind’s many layers. 

Fletch Dewly 

Yule 1989 Druid Missal-any 

The Boot Legged Concert 

Some time in the first or second or such centuries C.E., 

Rorey Mor, a filidh, had become a woods-hermit in the tradition 

of Mad Sweeney or Finn the Elder, and he no longer played the 

harp or sang in the great courts. He had been reputed to be the 

best harper in the provinces of Connaught and Munster, and the 

local chieftain of the area to which he had retired determined to 

get him to play for his court. No entreaties or bribes availed, so 

the chief and some of his Druids hatched a plan. They sent an 

invitation to Rorey saying that Conal, the then most acclaimed 

harper in Erin, was coming to play for the chieftain, and asking 

Rorey, since he no longer played, to join them in listening to the 

great bard. The chieftain’s Druids knew that Rorey did not attend 

feasts any more, but they also surmised that he would be curious 

about what his old rival was composing and would not refuse to 

come and listen. They were right. 

Rorey was shown into the hall where a fine fire was lazing 

and on the table was a harp of willow wood of the finest crafting, 

which Rorey assumed to be Conal’s. Beside it stood a silver 

flagon of wine and the benches all around were covered with 

white fleeces. Rorey was left alone. He waited and waited, but 

no harper or festive crowd arrived. Meanwhile, the chieftain and 

his court had hidden themselves behind a wicker partition that 

curtained off the far end of the hall. 

“I’ll just see what sort of harp strings the great bard has 

gotten himself now.” Thought Rorey, and picked up the harp and 

brushed his fingers over the strings. What he heard was 

wonderful. He dipped a finger into the wine and tasted a drop. It 

was marvelous. (Wine in those days was an import from Roman 

traders, exotic and used only rarely.) He sipped the wine and his 

old songs came flooding back to him. He began to play and was 

soon lost in the calling of his art. The chieftain and his court had 

never heard such wonderful sounds. All listened on and on, 

entranced, until, at an interval in his playing, Rorey tipped the 

flagon to his lips and –nothing--! No more wine came out.

“Aye me! What a mischief I have done! I have drunk up 

all of the bard’s wine!” 

They heard him put down the harp. They heard the window 

shutter open. Before the chief or any of his men could leap up 

and push aside the partition, Rorey had bounded out of the 

window and across the court yard and off toward his favored 

woods. 

“Take my two best horses and fetch him back at once!” the 

chieftain shouted. But it was too late. The retainer searched and 

searched but he couldn’t find the hermit and had to return alone, 

we with the morning dew. 

-Oimelc 1990 Druid Missal-any Author unknown. 

Dawning into darkness 

Oldest of nights 

Chorus: 

‘S Tu mo leannan 

Leannan og 

‘S Tu mo leannan 

Leannan og 

Samhain Vigil Song 

I came to love you 

I came to grieve 

Chorus 

Strong chains 

Won’t bind this love 

Chorus 

For I am a climber 

And I am a thief 

Chorus 

Strong chains 

Won’t bind me 

Chorus 

What bird sings in darkness? 

Longest of nights 

Chorus 

Stone walls 

Can’t hold this love 

Chorus 

Dancing through darkness 

Waiting the light 

Chorus 

Sunset over Marsco 

Cuchullain in sheets 

Chorus 

These shades of McLean’s words 

‘Round us like spirits, released 

Chorus 

Strong Chains 

Can’t bind this love 

Chorus 

This ode for the Samhain night vigil was written by Rorey 

MacDonald of South Uist, Scotland. He performs with the 

popular Scots’ folk-rock group, RunRig, whose tapes are 

available through Ridge Records, Ganton House, 14-22 Ganton 

St. , London W1V 1LB. None of the tapes, however, include this 

song which may be a bit too controversial for High Presbyterian 

Scotland. This is from a “broadside” and the editor has heard a 

private recording made at a concert. 

365 

Gaidhlig Vocabulary 

‘S tu It is you (familiar) 

mo my 

leannan Love, beloved 

og young 

McLean Scotland’s greatest modern poet, Rorey McLean 

(It’s taken four plus years to get permission to print this. 

Transatlantic communication at the speed of the Nina, the Pinta 

and the Santa Maria.) 

The New Moon 

In Cornwall the people nod to the new moon and turn silver 

in their pockets. In Edinburgh cultured men and women turn the 

rings on their fingers and make their wishes. A young English 

lady told the writer that she had always been in the habit of 

bowing to the new moon, till she had been bribed out of it by her 

father, a clergyman, putting money in her pocket lest her lunar 

worship should compromise him with his bishop. She naively 

confessed, however, that among the free mountains of Loch Etive 

she reverted to the good customs of her fathers, from which she 

derived great satisfaction! 

Ma’s math a fhuair thu sinn an nochd, 

Seach fearr gum fag thus sinn gun lochd, 

A Ghealach gheal nan trath, 

A Ghealach gheal nan trath. 

If well thou hast found us to-night, 

Seven times better mayest thou leave us without harm, 

Thou bright white Moon of the seasons, 

Bright white Moon of the seasons. 

-Carmena Gadelica. 

Oimelc 1991 Druid Missal-Any 

A Ghealach Ur 

This little prayer is said by old men and women in the 

islands of Barra. When they first see the new moon they make 

their obeisance to it as to a great chief. The women curtsey 

gracefully and the men bow low, raising their bonnets reverently. 

The bow of the men is peculiar, partaking somewhat of the 

curtsey of the women, the left knee being bent and the right drawn 

forward towards the middle of the left leg in a curious but not 

inelegant manner. The fragment of moon-worship is now a 

matter of custom rather than of belief, although it exists over the 

whole British Isles. 

May thy laving luster leave us 

Seven times still more blest. 

O moon so fair 

May it be so, 

As seasons come, 

And seasons go. 

-Carmina Gadelica. 

Oimelc 1991 Druid Missal-Any

Emmon’s Selections 

By Emmon Bodfish, 1990s 

From the thick grass 

On the Mountain 

I see this will be a 

Rich year. 

The last two 

Were poor years. 

And no amount of worry 

Or effort of the will 

Will make any difference. 

I choose to pick and eat 

This wild lettuce 

And not that one. 

How random it is: (Death) 

Without any connection 

To the moral character 

Of either herb. 

NO BLAME, then 

when Nature gathers me. 

The Mountain 

It is always cold 

On the Mountain, 

Not just this year. 

Jagged scarps, forever fogged in. 

Ferns in the dark gorges 

Steep ravines 

Unimaginably rugged... 

I am afraid, 

If I settle long 

On Messeur Mountain, 

I would not go back. 

[will] 

-By Emmon Bodfish, 1980s 

OCTOBER 

A thousand hills covered 

With bleached grasses, 

Ten thousand tangled paths, 

But no sign of who made them. 

Every day, just this, 

And sometimes the sound of wind blowing 

Against the pane 

366 

To My Teacher 

Ryokan from "Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf" translated by John 

Stevens 

An old grave hidden away at the foot of a deserted hill, 

Overrun with rank weeds growing unchecked year after year; 

There is no one left to tend the tomb, 

And only an occasional woodcutter passes by. 

Once I was his pupil, a youth with shaggy hair, 

Learning deeply from him by the Narrow River. 

One morning I set off on my solitary journey 

And the years passed between us in silence. 

Now I have returned to find him at rest here; 

How can I honor his departed spirit? 

I pour a dipper of pure water over his tombstone 

And offer a silent prayer. 

The sun suddenly disappears behind the hill 

And I'm enveloped by the roar of the wind in the pines. 

I try to pull myself away but cannot; 

A flood of tears soaks my sleeves. 

The Fairy Luring Song 

“It is more than once a maiden of the Hebrides has been lured 

away from the mortal world by a fairy lover. And it is said that at 

the meeting of day and night, yon some wee lover-being can be 

seen on a Fairy-knoll, singing his luring song, to a tune that would 

put even the strongest of us under his spell” – Kenneth McKeller 

The song was first written down in the last century, but the air and 

Gaelic fragments are much older. 

Why should I sit and sigh 

Plough and Bracken 


On the hillside dreary. 

When I see the plover rising 

Or the curlew wheeling, 

Then I draw my mortal lover 

Back to me a’stealing. 

Chorus 





All alone and weary. 

When the day wears away 

Sad I look for her down the valley. 

Ilka sound, way up and down, 

Sets my heart a’thrilling. 

Chorus 

Oh, but there is something wanting. 

Oh, but I am weary. 

Come my blighe and bonny lass 

Come o’re the knoll to cheer me. 





Hark to me, my dearie.

A Phiuthrag’s a Phiuthair (Little Sister) 

In the Gaelic speaking districts of Scotland one can still find 

hundreds of fairy tales and not a little actual belief in the fairies, 

mermaids, seal women, and other supernatural beings of the 

Celtic imagination. The song on this record is a cry of a girl who 

has been spirited away by the fairies and who calls on her sister 

for help. 

A phiuthrag’s a phiuthar, 

Hu ru 

A ghaoic, a phiuthar, 

Hu ru 

Nach truagh leat fhein 

Ho hala leo 

An nochd mo chumha? 

Hu ru 

Nach truagh leat fhein 

An nochd mo chumha 

‘S mi ‘m bothan beag 

Iseal cumhann? 

‘S mi ‘m bothan beag 

Iseal cumhann, 

Gun lub siamain, 

Gun sop tughaidh. 

Translation: 

Little sister, sister 

My Dear sister 

Do you not pity 

Tonight my lament 

Do you not pity 

Tonight my lament 

And I in a little hut 

Low and narrow? 

And I in a little hut 

Low and narrow, 

Without loop of straw rope 

Without wisp of thatch! 

Clach Mhin Mheallain 

(Rune against Hail) 

The Gaelic runes, which preserve both pagan and Christian 

elements, healed and protected, cursed and blessed the people. 

Many survived in use until about a century ago. 

Clach mhin mheallain 

‘San tobar ud thall, 

Clach mhin mheallain 

San tobar ud thall, 

Am buachaille bochd 

Ri sgath nan cnoc 

‘S a bhata fo uchd 

‘S a dhealg ‘na bhroit 

‘S e ‘g iarraidh air Dia 

Turadh is grain a chur ann. 

Translation: 

Smooth hailstones 

In yonder well; 

The poor heard 

367 

In the Ice of the hills, 

With his stick under his chest, 

And his pin in his bosom, 

Praying the gods 

To send dry weather and sun. 

Furich and Diugh (Weaving Song) 

In this song, perhaps one discovers the ironic attitude of the 

weaver towards his painstaking work or, hears the echoes of 

some lost incantation. 

Wait today until tomorrow 

Until I spin you a skirt 

The loom is in Patrick’s wood; 

The flax has been sown and has not grown. 

The milkmaid is unborn to mother; 

The Queen has the bobbin; 

And the wool is on the sheep in the wilderness; 

And the King of France has the shuttlepin. 

Fuirich an diugh gus am maireach 

Gradh air eiteagan arainn hu ru 

Gus an sniomh mi leine ‘n t-snath dhuit. 

Refrain 

Bun a choib air a choib 

Bun a ruid air an ruid 

Ian beag air a noid 

Seinnidh e lamh riut 

Seinn dubh seinn dubh 

Ohoro lunn dubh 

Tha bheairt-fhighe ‘n coille Phadraig; 

Grad air eiteagan arainn hu ru 

Chuireadh an lion ‘s cha do dh’fhas e. 

Refrain. 

Oidhche ‘n Fhoghar 

Eho hao ri, o 

Eho hao ri, o 

Nochd a’ chiad oidche ‘n Fhogar. 

Eho hao ri ri o hog o 

Eho hao ri ri a hi a bho a dhiu ru. 

Raoir a chuala mi’n othail. 

Eho hao ri o 

Eadar Ceann a Bhaigh ‘s an Fahdhail. 

Eho hao ri ri o hog o 

Eho hao ri ri a hi a bho a dhiu ru 

Cha ghuth gallain ‘s cha ghuth gadhair 

Guth na mna ‘s ‘m barr a meadhail. 

O ‘si fhein a rinn an taghadh; 

Ghabh I’n diughaidh’s dh’fhag I roghainn; 

Ghabh I’n t-oigeir seolta seaghach. 

Fai il eileadh hao o eileadh 

Coisich agus faigh dhomh ceile 

Fail il eileadh ho ro I

Lughnasasdh Night 

(translated by Emmon Bodfish) 

Eho! Ho! A king oh! 

Eho! Ho! A king oh! 

Last night was the first night of Fomhar. 

Eho! Ho! To a king of a youth, oh! 

Eho! Ho! To a king. Oh Heifer of them of the Rue Flower 

Last night I heard the tumultuous delight. 

Eh! Ho! A king oh! 

Between the head of the Bay and the ford. 

Eho! Ho! To a king of a youth, oh! 

Eho! Ho! To a king. O Heifer of them of the Rue flower. 

Not the sound of baying, and not the voice of hunting dogs, 

the voice of woman at the height of her joy. 

Eho! Ho! To a king oh! 

Oh! Indeed, she made the choice; she took the unfortunate 

one and left the choice one. 

She took the wise, ingenious boy. 

Ring, of Plenty, Folding 

Ho! Folding, plaiting… 

Come and get me a husband. 

Wreath, Plenty, Folding, Braiding. 

Ho! Of the Braiding. 

Notes: The line of the Heifer is archaic spelling and 

uncertain meaning The unfortunate one could refer to the 

god, Lugh’s , death at Lughnasa or may have even older 

allusions to the Corn King tradition, and the sacrifice of the 

incarnate god. 

An Coineachan 

Ho-bhan, ho-bhan, Goiridh og O, 

Goiridh og O, Goiridh og O; 

Ho-bhan, ho-bhan, Goiridh og O, 

I’ve lost my darling baby O! 

I left my darling lying here, 

A-lying here, a lying here; 

I left my darling lying here, 

To go and gather blueberries. 

I’ve found the wee brown otter’s track, 

The otter’s track, the otter’s track; 

I’ve found the wee brown otter’s track, 

But ne’er a trace of baby O! 

I found the track of the swan on the lake, 

The swan on the lake, the swan on the lake; 

I found the track of the swan on the lake, 

But not the track of baby O! 

I found the track of the yellow fawn, 

The yellow fawn, the yellow fawn; 

I found the track of the yellow fawn, 

But could not trace my baby O! 

I’ve found the trail of the mountain mist, 

The mountain mist, the mountain mist; 

I’ve found the trail of the mountain mist, 

But ne’er a trace of baby O! 

368 

Mo Bhata, Boat Song 

Ho, my bonnie boatie, 

Thou bonnie boatie mine! 

So trim and tight a boatie 

Was never launched on brine. 

Ho, my bonnie boatie, 

My praise is justly thine 

Above all bonnie boaties 

Were builded on Loch Fyne! 

Ho mo bhata laghach, 

‘S tu mo bhata grin; 


‘S tu mo bhata grin. 


‘S tu mo bhata grin: 

Mo bhata boidheach laghach, 

Thogadh taobh Loch Fin. 

To build thee up so firmly, 

I knew the stuff was good; 

Thy keel of stoutest elm-tree, 

Well fixed in oaken wood; 

Thy timbers ripely seasoned 

Of cleanest Norway pine 

Well cased in ruddy copper, 

To plough the deep were thine! 

Ho mo bhata etc. 

How lovely was my boatie 

At rest upon the shore, 

Before my bonnie boatie 

Had known wild ocean’s roar. 

Thy deck so smooth and stainless, 

With such fine bend thy rim, 

Thy seams that know no gaping, 

Thy masts so tall and trim. 

Ho mo bhata, etc. 

Talking With Trees 

She looks in the house and she nobody sees. 

We go up to his room and his rug’s full of leaves, 

And all his new trousers have pitch on the knees. 

Chorus: 

Out in the woods is he, talking with trees! 

Talking and walking and stalking with trees 

Up in the high hills catching the breeze, 

Out in the woods is he, talking with trees! 

It’s late in the night he should be cuttin’ “zzz’s” 

He’s out of the window by shadowy leas 

Down in the Wild wood where nobody sees, 

Chorus. 

All alone by the circle of stones by the sea, 

At night by the light of the moon on the leaves, 

You can see him go dancing on magical knees,

Chorus 

Aunt Hann, she come s down with her baskets of cheese, 

Of cookies and cakes to tempt and to tease, 

To try and to teach him some sense if you please, [But] 

Chorus 

The Mountain Streams 

With my robe and staff through the purple heather 

One evening it was I took my way. 

I met a lass, she was tall and slender. 

Her eyes entreated me a while to stay. 

“Oh Roving Droi, Do you know I love you? 

Tell me your name and your dwelling also. 

Excuse my name, but you’ll find me dwelling 

by the Mountain streams where the Moorcocks grow. 

If my parents cause me to wed a farmer, 

I’ll be tied for life to one plot of land. 

You’re a roving Droi, Let me go with you, 

And I’ll give you my hand. 

Ah, but if your parents knew that 

You love a rover, 

I fear that would be my overthrow. 

So I’ll bide alone, love, 

For another season, 

By mountain streams where the Moorcocks grow. 

And in the turning of another season, 

We’ll meet again in yon woodland vale. 

And I’ll sit you down, love, 

All on my knee, then, 

And listen to your lovesick tale. 

And it’s False Solomon’s Seal 

We’ll go a gathering 

In the woods and the valleys below. 

Where the linnets sing their songs so sweetly 

By the mountain streams where the Moorcocks grow.” 

With my robe and staff through the purple heather 

One evening it was I took my way. 

I met a lass, she was tall and slender. 

Her eyes entreated me a while to stay. 

369 

Poems of the Season 

From our Server, Susan Press of Live Oak Grove 

Received 2002 From Stacey, but the date of authorship is 

uncertain. 

Solstice 

Winter has come, The song has been sung, The days have 

been white and cold. 

The dark has been deep, The earth was asleep, Dreaming a 

dream of old. 

Now hear Her blood drum, For the time has come, For the 

days to grow long and warm. 

For the dark becomes light, And the earth will take flight, 

Greeting the Sun’s return. 

Nights of Winter 

In deep of winter, 

In the middle of the night, 

Jack Frost paints your windows 

With nary a light. 

Look thru his icy artwork, Know each to be unique, You’ll see a 

starlit world revealed, 

A world that some would seek. 

A world that is within, without, A fragile world of wonder and 

glitter 

A world that from his paintbrush flows, In the deep, dark nights 

of winter. 

Walk Amongst the Trees 

-Published Druid Missal-any 2, Winter Solstice 2000 

Murmuring softly, Father Winter walks amongst the trees, 

gently easing them into sweet white slumber. He stops to rest with 

those who keep vigil during the long winter, the Holly, the 

Mistletoe, & the Evergreen. 

They are old, old friends & pass the long white winter 

sharing tales & talking of things they have seen & heard 

throughout their long lives. 

Go walk amongst the trees. Be quiet and still, listen for their 

voices & then for their wisdom. 

Share with them your dreams, your wonders & your woes, 

for they will become the substance of tales told in the 

future......the knowledge & wisdom of the trees.

Book of Songs 

and Poetry 

Volume Five 2002 

Recent Songs 


Well word spread about my ambitious attempt to collect 

more materials for ARDA 2 and Stacey’s Druid Missal-Any 

magazine, so those little Druids in Carleton and Berkeley 

recently were quite busy and have been writing lots of 

songs and poetry. So busy in fact, that I began the Bardic 

contests in the Fall of 2001. Here is a selection of those 

works. 


Irony's Druidic Verses: 

These are the druidicaly inspired poems of Irony Sade, 

Archdruid at Carleton 1996-1999. 

By Irony Sade 

Sands of Time 

I met a man in Mittengrad 

While walking down a street. 

The snows of several winters gone 

Were swirling round his feet. 

His cloak showed signs of recent rains, 

Its tattered edge told tales 

Of nights spent 'neath the starlit sky, 

And bramble ridden trails. 

He nodded as he greeted me, 

And quirked an eyebrow to; 

As if to say in some strange way, 

'I think that I know you.' 

"We've met before, now haven't we?" 

He spoke the tongue I knew, 

Then vanished while I stood and stared. 

And soft the cold wind blew. 

I met myself in Mittengrad, 

A thousand years removed. 

The Sands of Time had bleached my hair 

And left some wrinkles smoothed. 

My scowl faded clean away, 

A knowing mien he wore. 

What source of surcease had he found, 

Through what unopened door? 

370 

By Irony Sade 

Hypnosis 

Light and shadows ever-mixing 

Twisting turning and betwixing 

Stone and sky from which the rain comes 

Falling steaming hissing screaming; 

I am walking through a valley, being tripped by fallen angels. 

While beneath the ground is shaking 

Bouncing bounding laughing quaking 

Fires leaking trees are creaking 

All around a voice is speaking; 


And above the sky is turning 

Swaying praying clouds are burning 

Hawk and Phoenix both are slaying 

Close behind the hounds are baying; 


Straight ahead the Elves are singing 

Clear their voices high and ringing 

On the hills a storm is climbing 

In my ears a bell is chiming; 


By Irony Sade 

The Spring 

The flowers shine like ivory upon the forest lawn 

The sky is lightly tinged with pink before the early dawn 

The trees are black and high they raise their lofty towering crowns, 

And in the stream there is a pool in which all worry drowns. 

The larks and nightingales sing of restfulness and sleep 

The lilies on their lily pads are floating on the deep 

The pebbles show their colors and the trees are dripped with green 

The waterfall it plays a song of notes not heard but seen. 

The ivy creeps it's way around and up the trunks of trees 

The flowers dance a reel to the buzzing of the bees 

The butterflies they sit and fan themselves with jeweled wings 

The stream it parts around a rock on which the wood nymph sings. 

By Irony Sade 

The Pilgrims Lament 

If the world is only illusion, 

Just the fabric of Maya wherein nothing is real, 

If the soul of the all is the only existence, 

Why does it hurt so much? 

If the seeker has thrown off temptation, 

If desire is stifled and pain is repealed, 

If the peace that we've found is worth all that we've given, 

Why do I feel this loss? 

The gods of my peoples are too many, 

The truths of the ones I see here too few.

If the gods cannot offer the keys to our heavens, 

What can the soul look to? 

I look to myself I see only confusion. 

When I look to the world I see heartache and pain. 

I look to the god's- I see nothing but silence. 

What is there to gain? 

Yet the sunset still offers me beauty, 

Caresses still fill me with love. 

The ground at my feet is still there when I'm weary... 

Need we find aught above? 

By Irony Sade 

What if there's naught above? 

Untitled 

Gorbeling his gillerthumbs, 

The Glabberbeast of Gallermums 

Spied a lazing Olgerumph 

Upon the forest floor. 

Passing through the Pumplefronds 

He pounced upon her tumblemonds. 

"Dear sir!" She squeaked, "You're squiggling 

My oomtingles with your zore!" 

By Irony Sade 25.4.98 

Solitude 

No more questions. 

No more stories. 

Ask of me no songs. 

No more oak leaves drifting in the stream beside the moon, 

Nor lightning without thunder in the April muted hills. 

And let there be no bitter wood-smoke seeping through the rain. 

For there is no more wanting in me. 

Nor fear. 

Nor any love of challenge. 

But give to me a single petal from which a drop of dew has fallen 

and another has yet to form- 

For there is some desire in me still for which I have no name. 

On Wind Driven Raindrops 

The rains from the skies 

are the tears that my eyes 

never shed... 

While the leaves in the stream 

are the drops that my heart's 

never bled.... 

What am I weeping for? 

All the words that I've read- 

All the songs in my head- 

All the pain that I dread.... 

For the ghost in my bed...... 

371 

Poems from Foot Prints 

The German times; August and September, 1997 

Irony Sade 

I 

Delighting in life the lark flits above me 

Where the rain drips down through the boughs of the 

pines, 

Delighting in the rain the grasses run silver, 

Their laughter the wind as it rustles my hair. 

Delighting in the wind the pines shiver slowly- 

The goddess is washing the dust from their beards. 

Delighting in the goddess the deer leap before me- 

But the ground has since sunk on the grave of the king. 

II 

The forests have buried the barrows of others 

And webs are now woven where tapestries hung. 

The spider stands sucking the life of her mate 

On a hill o'er a cairn, o'er a pile of bones. 

The bones of the deer now litter the forest 

Where the timid folk wander on pathways of stone. 

The wander watches the death of the grasses 

Ground up in their greens by a growling machine- 

But the heather grows green on the grave of 

the king. 

III 

Now buildings are build where the badger once burrowed 

And the lark 'lights no longer where the lumberjacks 

lean. 

Now bricks are laid over the green growing grasses, 

And the Oak is hewn down for the imported corn. 

Now the ships are of glass and the soul of the sailing 

Is nailed to the mast of the scorekeepers dome. 

Now the rain runs in rivers through the sewers of cities 

And the forest, forgotten, frowns over the wall- 

But someone burns candles on the grave of the king. 

* * * * * 

The candles in their candle-sticks are hanging on the wall. 

The jacket and the dripping jeans are hanging in the hall, 

The clouds are hanging in the sky, the rain is on the stone, 

And I am at the table slouched, drinking tea alone. 

By Irony Sade 

Upper Arb, Spring 98 

The summertime was dying 

And the autumn grasses sighing. 

The drifting leaves were lying 

Like the waves upon the sea. 

I was in a field standing 

When I felt my soul expanding 

And I heard a voice commanding 

That I call it back to me. 

And I thought I saw a glitter 

As of eyes both glad and bitter. 

There was mist upon the litter 

That was lying next to me...

Merri’s Druidical Mumblings 

in the Form of Poetry 

By MerriBeth Weber, c. 1998 

Dusk 

At the edge of the world, 

Dust 

Wild round me swirled, 

Sand 

Beneath me sank, 

Silence 

As deep I drank, 

Voice 

Called out my name, 

"Who?" 

I cried, insane. 

Answer 

I was never told, 

Tongue 

So strange and old, 

"Tell!" 

I plead in tears. 

Veil 

Thin between the years. 

Silence. 

And I wake. 

Sand Dreams 

Musings in a Colorado Hotel 


Who am I on this precipice, 

This cliff above the world, 

Looking out o'er this great expanse, 

This majesty unfurled? 

What eyes are these, to survey so 

The trials of beasts and men? 

What lips have I to speak so of 

These things beyond my ken? 

Am I so wise a knowing thing 

To explain with proverbs grand, 

To nod sagely and lisp along 

As though I understand? 


Northeast Stone 

Silently in death I lay 

That death before the birth, 

From nothingness, from there I came 

I prepare now for earth 

Sleeping, floating, pondering 

The silence of the spheres 

Inside are placed my gifts 

And my allotted years 

This memory sings to me 

When I'm asleep at night 

I listen, rapt with wonder, 

Till I'm touched by morning's light 

Now I find myself again 

372 

At the point within my dreams 

Where I must prepare myself 

To cross uncharted streams 

This is a rebirth for me 

A time for me to choose 

Who I wish to be and 

What path I wish to use 


The Storm 

It stormed, thunder and lightening crackling in the sky, 

and in the air. 

I ran through the rain, leaping and dancing, 

like a young wild thing discovering for the first time 

what rain is. 

I stood in streams of water, drinking from the sky, 

atop the Center Stone. 

With each crack and flash I felt the power growing, 

within me and without of me, 

until they both were one. 

The breeze was my breath and the thunder my heartbeat. 

I lifted up my open hand to the heavens 

in exultation of this life, 

and the sky cracked. 

My other hand came up to join the first, 

and it cracked and rumbled again. 

My laughter was lost in the wind, became part of the storm. 

The circle spun around me, 

Alive. 

My love, my love. 

Lost in my reverie, we found a rift between us. 

Later, under the raindrops, his words brought forth an anger. 

A strength within me rose. 

A woman I didn't recognize. 

She brought him to the church and spoke with him. 

She sees clearly. 

Her thoughts are sound. 

God's words may pass her lips, 

she fears them not. 

Roles reversed, they converse, until he leaves the scene. 

And all in awe I venture forth, into the chapel dark. 

The pews are empty but hymns are heard, 

humming from the walls. 

I kneel in prayer before my Lord and ask to understand. 

By MerriBeth Weber, c.1998 

Untitled 

The silence broken only by the sound of falling snow, 

the forest holds its breath. 

Standing cloaked in my calmness, 

I wait. 

The sun, a silver disk, 

strains through the clouds, 

whiter than angels' wings. 

The world's face softened by a snowy veil, 

the quivering bride of winter 

stands with me 

in silence broken only by the sound of falling snow. 

The forest and I hold our breath. 

Chill fingers reach to caress my eyelids. 

The Mother's arms are open, 

her child falls grateful into her warm embrace.

Stillness. 

The silence broken only by the sound of falling snow, 

the forest holds its breath. 

Walking With Dad 


Swaggering across hummocks of grass, 

Man style. 

Delicately balanced in one hand, 

A structure of a diminutive nature. 

Blackbird, he says. 

Only the ash have survived the swamp. 

You can tell them by their bark. 

Memory rests for a moment in childhood. 

Regrettable that the walks were solitary. 

Learning waits till now. 

Now that I am woman grown. 

The Dance 


There is a dance within my soul 

A Dance A Dance 

Throbbing in my head, beating in my heart 


Moving in my limbs, the rhythm 


I dance dance a dance dance catlike, 

slow, controlled, the rhythm beats 

faster, the power grows numbing, exhilarating 

Dance Dance Dance 

Who's is this? Stop. 

A knowledge, a knowing, to be gained in the dance. 

From Whom? 

dance dance Dance Dance DANCE! 

I'm walking, I'm avoiding 

I won't dance dance dance 

I don't know yet, I'm not certain of this 

dance dance dance 

Of the Father or the dark one is this 

dance dance dance 

What knowledge? This knowledge. What knowledge? 

Dance Dance 

In the meadow, in the forest, by the stones 

Dance Dance 

I must dance dance dance. I must know. 

Sister, if I go astray 

Please keep all the rest away. 

Dance. 

Circle Building 

By MerriBeth Weber c.1999 

Mother, am I doing right? 

Does this soothe your pain? 

I'm lining stars up in the night 

And wondering if I'm sane. 

Mother, is this path I tread 

Leading me to hell? 

I cleared away those lying dead. 

Am I doing well? 

373 

There is a focus in this place, 

A power swelling deep. 

But now and then the Father's face, 

It haunts me in my sleep. 

Untitled 


Dragonflies are droning in the dreary dusk of day, 

Heralding the harper who in Faerie's halls will play. 

Bellowing and trumpeting the bullfrogs bounce along. 

Fairies find their fellows as the harper starts his song. 

' Remember rolling meadows 

And grasses wet with dew. 

Nights black as black 

And skies of pure blue. 

Remember golden silence. 

Remember waters clear. 

The world we knew is fading 

The end is drawing near. ' 

Elven cries of anguish echo eerie in the wood. 

Cries that carry farther than the fairies thought they could. 

Unwitting I was walking when wails were wailed aloud 

And the satyrs' song slipped my mind from its mortal shroud. 

Untitled 


The morning sun sifts through my window. 

I watch the light and shadows playing on the wall. 

Quietly wondering why I am allowed such contentment. 

Can it be that this peace is what is intended 

And the rest is all dreams and folly? 

Mississippi Mud 


Moonlight on naked flesh 

Rain on the river 

Laughter rippling 

Young voices cut the night 

So good to be young, to be free 

Living my dance 

Dancing alone 

Feet sure between the stones 

Water yielding and supporting 

The way is open 

The road so long and 

Traveled so quickly 

Standing a’tremble 

The droplets beaded on my skin 

Only the moon to light my path 

And the clouds come and go

The Poems of Chris 

Chris Middleton was an odd quiet sort of Druid who enjoyed 

mummery and plays and eccentric little talks with puppets at 

night. 

Something to Look Forward to 

By Chris Middleton, Carleton, c.1999 

I was eating a rather bland breakfast 

When suddenly 

I died 

Moments later my spirit was wheeling from the experience 

My vision blurred as the room about me spun into a crazed mix of 

colors 

A blender full of the rich hues of every fruit 

Every berry. 

Soon all reality and the bowl of oatmeal below me dipped and 

sank into the thick syrupy afterlife 

My spirit was now sticky with the great beyond- 

Tastes like blueberries- 

Then a darkness, more liquid than coffee, washed over me as I 

ascended to the light 

Could this be death I wondered as I drew my hands through a 

stream of caffeinated Hereafter 

I thought of all the orange slices, the Mandarin, Naval, and 

Tangerine 

I recalled the Grapefruit and Melons 

Those distinct memories of Kiwis, Sandpears and Mangos 

All those times I had feasted 

Those times when I had refused to take a single citrus section 

It was there that I came to a Toast Point 

I landed gracefully near a sea of tranquil raspberry jam 

Along the toasted beach, the waves kicked up a froth of pancakes 

People wandered in bedclothes holding hands and holding 

newspapers 

I knew I had reached the land where breakfast never ended 

And sighed deeply, turning to English muffin thoughts, and 

knowing that I’d never have to go to early morning Spanish again. 


By Chris Middleton, Carleton c.1999 

Three men are seated at a table in Purgatory 

They are silent 

Around them are thousands of silent, caged, parrots 

Just as in heaven, just as in hell 

In heaven the parrots learn words and continue the conversations 

When the people are silent 

In hell the parrots learn words and 

Interrupt whoever speaks 

In Purgatory the parrots learn words, 

But are always silent 

The three men in Purgatory 

Do not know this 

374 

10/20/98 

Dear Irony, 

The Poems of Brad 

Your letter inurted me to send anything of interest to you, the 

enclosed facsimile copies are the nicest things (to me) I've seen on 

Druidism, Hope they are of interest. 

Sincerely, Brad Norris 

The Seven Precepts of Merlin 

Strive for knowledge, for it is power 

Seek virtue, for it brings peace 

Abhor vice, for it brings evil on all 

Obey those in authority in all just things, so virtue may be exalted 

When in authority decide reasonably, for thy authority may not 

last 

Bear with fortitude the ills of life, remembering that no mortal 

sorrow is eternal 

Cultivate the social virtues, so that thou shall be loved by all men 

The Gorsedd Prayer 

Grant, o Duw, thy protection 

And in protection, strength 

And in strength, understanding 

And in understanding, knowledge 

And in knowledge, the knowledge of justice 

And in that knowledge of justice, the love of justice 

And in that love of justice, the love of all existence's 

And in that love of all existence's, the love of Duw 

Duw and all goodness 

Where dips the rocky highland 

Of sleuthwood in the lake, 

Lies a leafy island 

Where flapping herons wake 

The drowsy water rats 

There we've hid our faerie vats 

Full of berries 

And of reddest stolen cherries 

Stolen Child 

(Chorus) 

Come away, oh human child 

To the water and the wild 

With a faerie hand in hand 

For the world's more full of weeping 

Than you can understand 

Where the wave of moonlight glosses 

The dim grey sands with light 

By far off furthest crosses 

We foot it all the night 

Weaving olden dances 

Mingling hands and mingling glances 

Till the moon has taken flight 

To and fro we leap 

And chase the frothy bubbles 

While the world is full of troubles 

And is anxious in its sleep 

(Chorus)

Where the wandering water gushes 

From the hills above Glencar 

In pools among the rushes 

That scarce could bathe a star 

We seek for slumbering trout 

And whispering in their ears 

Give them unquiet dreams 

Leaning softly out 

O'er ferns that drop their tears 

Over the young stream 

(Chorus) 

Away with us he's going 

The solemn-eyed 

He'll hear no more the lowing 

Of the calves on the long hillside 

Or the kettle on the hob 

Sing peace unto his breast 

Or see the brown mice bob 

Round and round the oatmeal chest 

For he comes the human child 

To the waters and the wild 

With a faerie hand in hand 

For the world's more full of weeping 

Than he can understand 

W.B. Yeats 

375 

The Poems of Corwin 

By Corwin, c. 2002 

Utter blackness 

Just a second 

When bright light winked out. 

But in that second, 

I could see nothing. 

The world was gone. 

All too soon, 

A spot of light emerges, 

And the world returns. 

But I always know 

That for a second, 

It was gone. 


Utter blackness 

Bear Me Up, O World 

Bear me up, O world. 

Bear me up, support my weight with your lightness. 

In your silence, I can sing; 

Your cold envelops me, 

And stillness is my loyal companion. 

Your tiny rain is my ambrosia; 

The scent of the grass, the seeds, the decaying leaves— 

All your smallness feeds me. 

Your immensity, your grandeur, gets more praise, 

But your little, secret ways— 

The soft rhythm of crunching snow 

The midnight pale brightness of a snow field 

A single star pushing through the clouds— 

Lovingly linger with me, 

Always waiting, just for me to notice. 

You give me everything 

But that I could know it all! 

Bear me up, O world 

Let me be another tiny, forgotten 

Lovely thing. 


Infinity in an Open Plain 

I am so used to walls, 

Trees and Horizons 

I have never stood upon an empty plain 

Gazing out into wide forever 

Without anything to hold me up 

Beside or above, just the ground below. 

I look from out this train window; 

I wonder—without this steely guardian 

Without cities, walls, and dams, 

In a world without 

Man’s constructed obstruction 

Would I be borne up by infinity 

Stretching my limbs and my sight 

As far as they could go, 

Or would I, alone, isolated, 

Be crushed by its weightlessness?


Spent 

Another CD 

Another thing 

Another, another, and another 

Why must I buy 

It sounds 

It tastes 

It feels and looks 

So good 

So why has my life—my energy— 

Gone? following those 

Measly little bills? 

I am drained 

I feel sick. 

You can buy happiness, 

But like rich food 

If you take too much 

It is vomit, diarrhea; 

Disgust. 

I enjoy not spending, 

I enjoy frugality, 

Taking little, and only cheaply. 

This lettuce and celery joy 

Gave way to that of mousse and steak. 

I feel ill; I mustn’t eat. 

Later I shall eat slowly, 

Rich or poor, 

And avoid this sickness worse than hunger. 


Transcendence 

I feel her 

I feel through her 

I can feel the back of her neck 

Yet I face her front, 

And feel that too. 

I? 

We feel. 

Where does I end and she begin? 

I am not sure. 

I am not I 

I stretch beyond my form 

And these beautiful, loving bodies 

Fall to pieces 

Of universe. 

376 

Odd Selection of 

Current Works 

These are just a few more published poems submitted to the most 

recent Druid Missal-Any magazines before the Bardic Contest 

was begun. 

One 

From Shane.Saylor@verizon.net, Sept. 2001 

As the soot and dirt and ash rained down, 

We became one color. 

As we carried each other down the stairs of the burning building, 

We became one class. 

As we lit candles of waiting and hope, 

We became one generation. 

As the firefighters and police officers fought their way into the 

inferno, 

We became one gender. 

As we fell to our knees in prayer for strength, 

We became one faith. 

As we whispered or shouted words of encouragement, 

We spoke one language. 

As we gave our blood in lines a mile long, 

We became one body. 

As we mourned together the great loss, 

We became one family. 

As we cried tears of grief and loss, 

We became one soul. 

As we retell with pride of the sacrifice of heroes, 

We become one people. 

We are 

One color 

One class 

One generation 

One gender 

One faith 

One language 

One body 

One family 

One soul 

One people 

- author unknown 

Taught to Mike by Sam Adams 

The Wood Song 

You don’t have to live in a forest to have a Yule log, just a saw, a 

car, and a nearby park with some dead or fallen wood. But what 

kind of wood do you want. Here’s a song that’s been around 

awhile and should help you: 

Source: http://www.earthspirit.com/twnls.html 

Recorded on: "This Winter's Night," Mothertongue, 1998 

(earthspirit@earthspirit.com, EarthSpirit Community, P.O. Box 

723-N, Williamsburg, MA 01096) 

Oaken logs will warm you well, That are old and dry; 

Logs of pine will sweetly smell, But the sparks will fly. 

Birch logs will bum too fast; Chestnut, scarce at all. 

Hawthorn logs are good to last, Burn them in the fall.

Holly logs will burn like wax, You may burn them green; 

Elm logs, like to smouldering flax, No flame to be seen. 

Beech logs for the winter-time, Yew logs as well. 

Green elder logs it is a crime, For any man to sell. 

Pear logs and apple logs, They will scent your room. 

Cherry logs across the dogs Smell like flowers of broom. 

Ashen logs, smooth and grey, Burn them green or old; 

Buy up all that come your way, Worth their weight in gold. 

By Michael Scharding 

Dalon’s Daily Ditty 

I’ve been intrigued by Gospel music lately, despite never hearing 

any. This is his new take on liturgical gospel. As you know, 

I’m obsessive about Carleton, and I know every bend of the trail 

and every forested corner of it’s 800 acres. Like the Navajo and 

Tibetans, it is a deeply sacred landscape, filled with memories, 

legends, gods and lessons. I hope you enjoy it, works best with a 

side-shuffle and rocking back and forth, I believe. Choral work 

could improve it. A map of Carleton is available at 

http://www.acad.carleton.edu/campus/arb/ Feel free to adjust the 

lyrics or make your own. 

I am nothing special just a simple Druid, 

Seeking my awareness though the Earth Mother, 

And life’s lessons. 

But, I’m filled with doubts, and deep confusion 

What can I do to release these chains? 

Make a journey! 

CHORUS: 

Take me on up,, Lord (i.e. Dalon,) take me on down. 

Take me on over to the ho-oly gro-oves 

Of Carleton! 

The road is hard, black, long and winding 

With Bright-eyed Dragons spitting fire and smoke. 

Lord guide me. 

I’m goin’ down to the Cannon River, 

Gonna wash away all my ignorance 

And dogma’s blight. 

Through lonesome prairie and swamps of passion 

In the uncertain floodplain I learn a lesson 

The Lower Arb 

Matriculate past the dean of admission, 

To enter the ranks of those holy students 

And faculty. 

It’s the Land of Youth on an ancient mission 

Lifting the torch of inquiry both wide and far 

Through long study. 

The price of learning is a high tuition 

One that must be paid back for many years; 

To my pupils. 

Drink at the twin lakes of knowledge and wisdom 

Filled by the creek of experience 

That’s Lyman Lakes. 

377 

Proceed on to the tower of inspiration 

Whose fair white walls call out to me 

That’s Goodhue Hall. 

On seldom trod paths of contemplation 

with barbed sarcasm and rocks of Irony 

The Upper Arb 

I’ll climb up that steep, green, holy mountain 

Where so many before have found Awareness 

Hill of Three Oaks 

There I’ll pray & vigil in jubilation 

Between my green mother Earth and starry Pa 

And go on home. 

The world will’ve changed with those revelations 

The simple will be hard and the hard simple. 

Can I teach this? 

But questions will arise despite my education 

So, what can I do to solve them all? 

Make a new trip! 

The Existential Moment (1997) 

by K.D. Bennett or Spring Child of Berkeley 

'Tis a cold, dark night as all seem to be 

Melancholic, morbid, romantic characteristically 

One such as I who penned these words, being all entwined in me 

Can gaze out into this night and, nomadic, free 

Give thanks unto myself for quietude; night's hush 

Feels me flush 'gainst dream, feeling, thought; plush 

Is the plenty of leafy tree's rustling rush 

And the mystical chirping of dark friend cricket in that brush. 

It's a little dark and depressing, but I hope all my brothers and 

sisters will understand that that is the way I have felt so much of 

my life. Darkness is only one side of the darkness/light equation 

of course, and not really to be dwelled upon excessively. Under 

the waning gibbous moon, as we head off into winter now, I hope 

that you are all in good spirits, and wish you well in all that you 

do. 

Blessed be, All eternal love in spirit, 

Kevin David Bennett 

By Mike 

Blessing 

Thanks to the Earth 

For Giving us Birth 

Thanks to the Sky 

Both wet and dry. 

Thanks to all creatures in between 

Those that are solid & those unseen.

By Mike Scharding, 2001 

13 Fold Incantation 

I am a Washington in revolution. 

I am a Franklin in wit. 

I am a Jefferson in wisdom. 

I am a Monroe towards neighbors. 

I am a Lincoln in debate. 

I am a Bull Moose in the wilderness. 

I am a Taft at dinner. 

I am a Wilson in study. 

I am a Roosevelt in hard times. 

I am an Eisenhower in battle. 

I am a Kennedy in charisma. 

I am a Carter on the farm. 

I am a Clinton in virility. 

I am a Bush in having smart friends. 

I am a Gore to the environment. 

Who is it who leads the people? 

Who comforts us in our crises? 

Who takes the credit for success and failure? 

If not I? 

By Mike Scharding, 2001 

Yankee Doodle Druid 

I’m a Yankee doodle Druid. 

Here in Washington D.C. 

A real strange Druid with a loud bagpipe 

Playing tricks and full of whiskey. 

I love my dear sweet earth-mother, 

She’s my Yankee Doodle joy. 

Yankee doodle went to Wiltshire 

Just to view that Stonehenge! 

I am a Yankee Doodle boy. 

I laugh at all those silly Druids, 

Tied up in red-tape, they don’t need. 

Give me a one page constitution, PLEASE! 

So I don’t go blind, trying to read. 

I love our simple, clever humor, 

I’ll follow it till the day I die. 

Yankee doodle went to Wiltshire 

Just to view that Stonehenge! 

I am a Yankee Doodle guy. 

-Mike Scharding, 2001 

378 

The Chronicle and the Ballad 

of the Death of 

Dalon ap Landu 

In 1999, the Hazelnut Grove, in a period of isolation and 

frustration with no reading material on Dalon Ap Landu (a God 

only known to the RDNA, apparently we discovered him in 1963) 

decided to replace him with the much better documented "Hu 

Gadarn," who has a history running back to 1703 when Iolo 

Morganwg discovered him. 

The reason for the ballad about the battle is that the AD 

wanted to just ditch Dalon Ap Landu because he couldn't find any 

literature on him, and he was afraid that we would be laughed out 

of the room by those for whom we did demo rituals. He did, 

however, find literature on Hu Gadern. Well, as always in the 

Reform, there were those of us who rebelled and felt that Dalon 

Ap Landu should not be just unceremoniously dumped like a bad 

date. And it hit me one Friday night during our Druid Think Tank 

meeting. If DAL must die, let him die as any Celt would want to, 

in battle. So, I wrote the chronicle and the ballad. 

We figure that he was a thought form created by the 

founding fathers of the Reform, because still being Christians, 

they felt uneasy about calling up any real Pagan deities. It is my 

personal belief that by now as a result of having been called upon 

for 30 plus years, he is at least an eggregore by now, and one day 

could attain true godhood. And in ritual, whenever Hu Gadern's 

name is mentioned, we whisper Dalon Ap Landu’s name that it 

may remain a mystery to the multitude. 

The Ballad of the Death 

of Dalon ap Landu 

Long were his locks of shining copper hue 

Stormy also his eyes of Mananan’s own blue 

Tall was he and mighty were his thews 

Shoulders broad as the spreading driu 

O youths and maids shed a tear for the death of Dalon ap Landu 

His spear was of the deadly yew 

His targe of oak that near it grew 

He armored himself as all warriors do 

But that could not stop the death of Dalon ap Landu 


Long had the scholars toiled to find his name so true 

But where he’d come from no tome knew 

So finally with teeth gnashing and weeping anew 

They signed a death warrant for young Dalon ap Landu 


His only crime was that he was new 

For six and thirty years he throve and grew 

But of the books and tomes none knew 

Of the paltry existence of Dalon ap Landu 


Scholars did find as Lord of the Groves, one Hu 

Gadern his surname and stories about him grew 

Druids called on him to give a blessing to 

Their offerings of leaves and potent brew 

O youths and maids shed a tear for the death of Dalon ap Landu

Only six and thirty years had he, as a god, that’s pretty new 

There were those who thought to kill a god one wouldn’t do 

E’en a youthful god had merit they’d softly coo 

As the Druid said the Lord of the Grove, whose name was Hu 


They came together, a clash of arms, Dalon and Hu 

In the trees thunder, in ground a tremor grew 

Dalon brandished his spear made of deadly yew, 

And landed first blow on Hu’s mighty thew 


Then came the spear of the Lord of Groves, named Hu, 

Long, straight, and also made of deadly yew 

The thrust was great and pierced Dalon right through 

He struggled manfully in his dying, the son of old Landu 


And still we sing of the death so long and cruel 

He died and went to the land of great Pwyll 

A death occurring in a great duel 

I hope you think my song adequately cool 

O youths and maids sing a song for the death of Dalon ap Landu 

Tegwedd Shadow Dancer 

Co-Co-Archdruid of the Hazelnut Mother Grove 

New Reformed Druids of North America 

August 21, 1999 

The Death of Dalon ap Landu 

(prose chronicle version) 

And in those days a great cry went up from those of the cross 

traditional circles that a ritual shall be held to show the multitude 

what the Druids of the Reform did in their worship. In the writing 

of the ritual for the common worship, the scholars and Druids had 

pored through tome after tome in the Arch Druid’s (Stefan) great 

Celtic library, but could find no reference for the name Dalon ap 

Landu, or even of his progenitor Landu, and much did the 

ArchDruid fear the ridicule of the scholars of the cross traditional 

circles. But a name did come up. One Hu Gadern was the Lord 

of the Groves for the ancient Cymry, and so his name replace that 

of Dalon ap Landu. 

But there were those in the Grove who mourned the passing of 

Dalon ap Landu. To them, even a young god was a fit deity who 

should not be cast aside as a worn shoe. Long did they whisper 

whenever the name of Hu Gadern was mentioned the doughty 

name of Dalon ap Landu. To some it did seem as an in-joke, and 

to others a mystery. 

But there was one who gathered her courage to speak onto the 

ArchDruid, “If he is to be dead, let him die a fit death for a Celtic 

deity. Let him die in battle.” 

And behold, the ArchDruid objected not. 

Long had Hu Gadern slumbered under the barrows of the honored 

Celtic dead. But as gods will often do, Hu Gadern stirred when 

he heard his name being called. Lo, did they call upon his name 

to bless the sacrifice of life and the libation. And when he stirred, 

he knew that there was another god he must face in combat for the 

privilege of being called upon to bestow the blessings. And 

379 

behold did he know this, because when his name was called, the 

other’s name, Dalon ap Landu, was whispered softly. 

And when that name was called, be it ever so softly, Dalon ap 

Landu did hearken onto his name, even as so youthful a god was 

he, did hearken onto his name. He knew he must face his nemesis 

in open combat, in a duel to the death. He armed himself with a 

spear made of the deadly yew, and armored himself with a targe 

of solid oak and armor of oaken bark; for after all was he not Lord 

of the Groves? His shining copper locks were held back by a strip 

of under-bark, and his blue eyes flashed in the sun. 

When the two came together, thunder roared among the boughs of 

the trees and the ground under them shook. Dalon ap Landu 

struck first a blow upon Hu Gadern’s mighty thew. But that did 

not even slow Hu Gadern down, and he, with his spear also of 

deadly yew, ran Dalon ap Landu’s noble chest through. All the 

youths who were looking on wept bitter tears for the death of the 

young and doughty Dalon ap Landu. Manfully did he struggle 

with Death. But the Caileach did scoop up her charge and sped 

away with Dalon ap Landu. 

But even now in the rites when the name of Hu Gadern is called 

upon, the name of Dalon ap Landu is ever whispered by some, 

and so shall it continue to be a mystery onto the multitude. 

Tegwedd Shadow Dancer 

Co Co ArchDruid and Chronicler for the Hazelnut Mother Grove 

August 21st, 1999 

***** 

Mike wrote in May 2001 

Not too worry, I have it on good counsel, that Dalon ap Landu, 

faked the encounter with Hu (being old drinking buddies) to “save 

face,” and that Dalon ap Landu is down in the Florida Everglades 

or Keys, knocking back screwdrivers (aka “Whang.”) Apparently 

he is on the Divine Witness Relocation Program, for “Gods on the 

Run,” which has been very successful in renaming European 

Gods into Christian Saints. He is not upset at all , “We 

vegetation gods are used to dying off every year! No problems 

here, dude, cheers!” he reports. In fact, he considers it a rather 

nice vacation after 36 years of hard work, and is lifting weights on 

the beach and doing some spear-training with the US Javelin team 

for a rematch at the “West-Coast Lord of the Groves” title. He 

can be contacted as needed by the usual means (i.e. invocation,) 

but do respect that he is now operating on East Coast time. 

About that lack of documentation, Dalon bashfully admits, “The 

worst thing about this whole situation, is I never learned to read 

and write! Hopefully with Laura Bush’s help, even a silly God 

like me will be able to write my memoirs!” If you have further 

questions, contact your nearest tree or consult a whisky bottle. 

(Now the story is further expanded by Tegwedd in June 

2001,) 

I also think that Stephen will get a kick out of what you said 

about Dalon Ap Landu. The reason for the ballad about the battle 

is that he wanted to just ditch Dalon Ap Landu because he 

couldn't find any literature on him, and he was afraid that we 

would be laughed out of the room by those for whom we did 

demo rituals. He did, however, find literature on Hu 

Gadern. Well, as always in the Reform, there were those of us 

who rebelled and felt that Dalon Ap Landu should not be just 

unceremoniously dumped like a bad date. And it hit me one

Friday night during our Druid Think Tank meeting. If DAL must 

die, let him die as any Celt would want to, in battle. So, I wrote 

the chronicle and the ballad. 

Please tell him (Dalon Ap Landu) that never did I intend him 

any ill will. He could live forever, as far as I'm concerned. We 

figure that he was a thoughtform created by the founding fathers 

of the Reform, because still being Christians, they felt uneasy 

about calling up any real Pagan deities. It is my personal belief 

that by now as a result of having been called upon for 30+ years, 

he is at least an eggregore by now, and one day could attain true 

godhood. And in ritual, whenever Hu Gadern's name is 

mentioned, we whisper Dalon Ap Landu's name, that it may 

remain a mystery to the multitude. 

380 

Rhiannon’s Songs 

Here are some songs and prayers we use at Druid Heart Spirit, I 

wrote some of them and some are triad invocations in a version 

we use. I wish I could send the melodies music notation but with 

this old computer it’s not possible, sorry. 

Deep Peace (An Old Druid Prayer) 

Deep peace of the running wave to you 

Deep peace of the silent stars 

Deep peace of the flowing air to you 

Deep Peace of the quiet earth. 

May peace, may peace, may peace fill your soul 

Let peace, let peace, let peace make you whole. 

By Rhiannon Hawk 

Land, sea, and sky, eye ee eye 


Land, sea, and sky, ae eye oh 

Land, Sea & Sky 

There is a place in our world 

We are everywhere, in our space 

There is a time, in our place 

Where there is no-time and really no-space 




There is a leaf that is not a tree 

But it grows in trees and is a healing 

Of our vision, a quickening 

Hangs from a tree, Otherworldly 




Hail to the force of the Awen 

We are reborn with the land. 

Praise to the beauty of nature 

In this light we are pure. 

Tall Trees 

Tall trees, warm fires, strong winds, deep waters 

I feel you in my body, I feel you in my soul 

Between the worlds, 

We’re in a circle, 

Everlasting, universal 

We are filled with spirit power 

Into the fires, complete the cycle

People of the Oak 

We are the people of the Oak 

Gathered at the sacred well 

Joined here the old ones to invoke 

So to weave our magic spell 

We are the people of the wood 

Standing in a faerie ring 

Here, where the shining ones stand 

Praises to the gods we bring 

Burn bright, flame within 

Kindled of eternal fire 

Of the people I do be 

And the people part of me 

All one in many parts 

A single fire of flaming hearts 

(repeat entire song a few times) 

Flame Within 

Walk With Wisdom 

Walk with wisdom, from this hollowed place 

Walk not in sorrow, our roots shall ever embrace 

May strength be your brother, and honor be your friend 

And luck be your lover, until we meet again 

(repeat entire song a few times) 

Invocation to Manawyddan 

Manawyddan we call to thee 

To cross over to our homeland 

And set your sails free 

To part the veil that is between 

The Otherworlds and ours 

So that we may 

Commune with the Shining Ones, 

Many blessings there shall be. 

Manawyddan, opener of every gate 

You are brother to Bran and Branwen 

Father of Pryderi and lover to Rhiannon 

Bring them across the seas 

So we may join with the Shining Ones and offer our love to thee. 

Triad Invocations 

Ancestors 

Spirits of the past, spirits of ancestors 

We call to you now. 

Spirits of the waters of the strongest oceans 

The waters that is the soothing rains 

I bid you enter into this water that we your kindred 

May be blessed by our communion with you 

(3 times) 

381 

Nature Spirits 

Spirits of the land, spirits of the forest 


Sacred and ancient trees 

Earth, water, wing and fire 

We call you into this sacred soil. 

We bid you enter into this soil that we you kindred 

May be blessed by our communion with you 

(3 times) 

Shining Ones 

Spirits of the Otherworld, Spirits of the Shining Ones, 


Bringers of peace, Beings of love, 

We call you into this sacred smoke. 

We bid you enter into this smoke that we your kindred 

May be blessed by our communion with you. 

(3 times) 

Honoring Mother Earth 

Oh Earth Mother! We praise thee! 

That seed springeth, 

That flower openeth, 

That grass waveth, 

We praise thee! 

For winds that whisper, 

Through the shining birch, 

Through the lively pine, 

Through the mighty oak, 

We praise thee! For all things, 

Oh Earth Mother, who givest life.

Mike’s Selections 

I had meant to include these originally in Green Book Volume 2, 

and have regretted not including these delightful bi-lingual poems 

from Scotland’s Gaidhealtachd in “Nuadh Bardachd” (New 

Bardry.) 

THE DUTY OF THE HEIGHTS 

(George Campell Hay/Deorsa Mac-Ian Deorsa pg 136) 

The dark mountain under the downpour, 

exposed as an anvil to the tempest, 

the wind ever blows about its summit, 

the mist ever drifts about its sides; 

difficult under the feet 

are its dripping paths through the rocks; 

tranquil about its base 

are houses, corn-plots, and garden. 

Often a few have assented to trials 

so that others should taste 

the happiness that was won 

in the face of Powers and tempest 

the scream of the wind on the crest; 

not a breath is heard on the straths: 

it's the buffeting of the Heights 

that gives tranquility to the little glen. 

Youth of my country, 

is it to be the tranquility of the Plains, then, 

the Peace and slumber of the low valleys, 

sheltered from the rough blast? 

Let your step be on the summit, 

and your breast exposed to the shy. 

For you the tearing wind of the pinnacles, 

lest destruction come on us as a landslide. 

( by Derrick Thomson pg 142) 

THE WELL 

In the middle of the village is a little well, 

with the grass hiding it, 

the green luscious grass closely thatching it. 

I heard of it from an old woman, 

but she said, 'The path is covered with bracken, 

where often I walked with my cogie, 

and the cogie itself is warped.' 

When I looked in her lined face 

I saw the bracken growing round the well of her eyes, 

and hiding it from seeking and from desires, 

and closing it, closing it. 

'Nobody goes to that well nowadays,, 

said the old woman, 'as we went once, 

when we were young, 

though the water is lovely and white. 

And when I looked in her Yes through the bracken 

I saw the sparkle of that spring 

that makes whole every hurt, 

till the hurt of the heart. 

'And will You go for me,' 

said the old woman, 'with a thimble even, 

and bring to me a drop of that clear water 

that will bring colour to my cheeks?' 

382 

I found the well at last 

and though her need was not the greatest, 

it was to her I brought the treasure. 

It may be that the well 

is only something I saw in a dream 

for when I went to seek it to-day 

I found nothing but bracken and rushes, 

and the old woman's eyes are closed, 

and a film has come over their merriment. 

I Got The Feel of You With My Feet 

( by Derrrick Thomson/ Ruaridh MacThomais pg 160) 

I got the feel of you with my feet 

in early summer; 

my mind here in the city 

strives to know, but the shoes come between us. 

The child's way is difficult to forget: 

he rubs himself against his mother 

till he finds peace. 

I felt the rough side of you and the smooth 

and was none the worse of it, 

the two sides of the grass and two grips on the barley, 

Peat-fibre and moss, 

and since the world we knew 

follows us as far as we go 

I need not wash away that mud 

from between the boy's toes. 

And now, in middle age, 

I am going in to warm myself, 

with my bare feet on a peat beside the hearth. 

My Village Tonight 

(Ian Chrighton Smith from "Bailtean") 

You are my village tonight, 

remarkable your lights, 

warm glow in the moor's bleakness. 

High above Shore Street 

your other streets rise - 

streets like a soft carpet - 

and my hands will feel your paths 

and my heart your heart. 

Woodland and tree between the ways, 

they will rise on the summits 

and the knolls will be soft with moss 

and the moss with dew. 

You are the resplendent village, 

little village by the wave, 

secret village of my love, 

tidal village and earth village, 

village of the soft breasts, 

village that will ease from self 

and keep us folded as one. 

When you lift your summer skirt 

I will dance on your meadow, 

and we will ascend the steps 

up from the edge of the sea 

until we are above the world, 

and I see you lying below me 

like a diamond in the kyle.

(pg 24 of Nuadh Bardach) 

Love's Colors 

Drowsy village surrounded 

by brown moor 

to the horizon, to the Harris mountains. 

There was a creel on the hillocks, 

a creel no longer living. 

But does it matter 

who inherits this symbol, 

if there is love in the heart? 

And does it matter 

for the English and those from Europe? 

The heart must grow 

with each day's decease, the sun rising and setting 

on the purple fens. 

Would it matter if there were no Gaels - 

would the heather wither? 

In another island - in Mull - 

the moor blossoms yet, 

with a few natives watching 

it growing with the strangers. 

A tear or two will not deter their joy - 

perhaps like the joy of the first Gael 

on seeing Ben Tala and Ben More 

with their virgin winter coat. 

This land also saw, 

bare though it is, 

death and life, 

until it is today 

silent, 

smooth to the horizon 

like a brown inscrutable poem. 

2 

1 hope you did not believe the lie, 

the lie foisted on us by education, 

that love is uncomplicated 

and that it does not matter who gives it. 

For love is multi-coloured 

and the heart above the moor, 

high and multiform above it. 

There are many loves in the heart 

and many languages. 

What colour is your love? - 

the love outlasting the moor, 

love woven with the language 

forever, if one wishes. 

If the moor does not hear our joy 

there will be a music lost to earth 

and one of the colours of love. 

Dathach a'Ghraidh ("Love's Colours") 

(Scots Gaelic pg 25 of Nuadh Bardach) 

1 

Tha am baile cadalach, donn 

am monadh timcheall air 

a' sineadh gu faire, 

gu beanntan Na Hearadh- 

Bhitheadh cliatbh air na tuim, 

cliabh nach eil beo an-diugh. 

Ach a bheil e gu diofar 

383 

c6 gheibh sealbh air an t-samhla seo, 

ma tha gradh anns a' chridhe? 

'S a bheil e gu diofar 

airson Shasannach is Eurpach? 

Cha sheachain an cridhe fas 

le siubhal gach latha, 

a' ghrian ag eirigh 's a' laighe 

air na faithean purpar. 

De ged nach biodh Gaidheal idir ann - 

an tigeadh seargadh air an fhraoch? 

Ann an eilean eile - ann am Muile - 

tha am monadh dosrach fhathast 

agus corra Ghaidheal ga fhaicinn 

a' fas ris na strainnsearan. 

Cha bhrist deur no dha an aoibhneas-san - 

Is docha mar aoibhneas a' chiad Ghaidheil 

a' faicinn Beinn Tala is Beinn Mor 

le cota oigheil a' gheamhraidh. 

Chunnaic am fearann seo cuideachd, 

lom 's gu bheil e 

iomadach beatha is bas, 

gus a bheil e 'n-diugh 

samhach, 

comhnard gu faire 

mar dhan donn do-thuigsinn. 

Tha mi an dochas nach do chreid thu a' bhreug, 

a' bhreug a sparras foghlam oirnn, 

gu bheil an gradh aon-fhilite 

Is nach eil e gu disfar co bheir e. 

Oir tha an gradh ioma-dhathte 

agus an cridhe os cionn a' mhonaidh, 

Ard, iomadach os a chionn. 

Tha iomadh gradh anns a' chridhe 

agus iomadh canan. 

De an dath a th'air do ghradh? - 

an gradh as buaine na am monadh, 

air a thasgadh anns a' chanan 

‘Is mi thogras sinn gu brath. 

Mur cluinn am monadh ar caithream 

birth ceol air chall air thalamh 

agus aon de dhathan a' ghraidh. 

A January Day 

(a poem in an old manner) 

pg 44 of Nuadh Bardachd 

On a January day 

the untamed wind 

will be smoothing things 

amidst the trees. 

On a strange day 

waves will rise 

like chequered embers 

out from the headland. 

The impetuous clouds will blow, 

white and grey splendour, 

like feathers plucked 

from a plump cockerel-

The promontory will be misty, 

and the subtle sun 

will shine through clouds 

on the deceptive slopes. 

I like a January day 

somewhat windy 

with the horizon invisible 

with a lime-coloured haze. 

Purple by the sea's edge, 

blue further out, 

blue-grays so colourful 

and white coals in the Kyle. 

A promise of spring in the air; 

although it is still cold, 

people and earth 

are aware of a green spirit. 

pg 29 of Nuadh Bardach 

Silent Moon 

We 

in the wood. 

Above it the sun, 

above it the moon. 

Moon world, 

sun world, 

the one burning, 

the one wan. 

The moon is pale 

in the same sky 

in which the leaves are failing. 

If I should catch the pale moon 

the sun would fall 

if I should catch the leaf. 

Mud smell 

in the brown path, 

the leaf failing 

according to nature's laws, 

and dying. 

It will fall forever, 

dispersing, uniting. 

The pale leaf 

in the mud, 

the white swan on tile wave 

and the sun without light. 

What town is this 

that is so silent? 

For God's sake 

say something 

about unity, about scattering. 

THE HARD BEND 

The leaf broke in a thousand pieces. 

The moon was silent. 

384 

Book of Songs and Poetry 

Volume Six 2002 

Songs from Archie D. 

& the Servers 

The 2001-2 Bardic Contest 

In the Time of Sleep between Samhain 2001 and Beltane 2002, 

the RDNA had a bi-weekly Bardic filk contest wherein the 

members took popular tunes and wrote new lyrics. We had over 

40 entries during these 25 weeks, and I hope that they provide use 

in liturgies, festivals and late night bonfire sing-a-longs. Please 

check with the original authors, regarding use of copy-right 

materials. 

The Rules of the Contest 

You, and your friends & enemies, are hereby invited to participate 

in the First Annual Winter Bardic Song-Writing Contest of the 

RDNA 2001/2002: 

1. Prize: Bard of the Year XXXIX designation. 

2. The Reason: A desire to further one's technical skills and attune 

one's muse 

3. O.K., The Real Reason: Winter is boring. Rituals don't work 

well enough to bother with. Raw Ego and Pride 

4. Participants: Anyone gifted by the gods can join in. We hope to 

have 10 or more bards involved by completion of the project. 

Please register with the Judge [nozomikibou@hotmail.com] at 

any time. 

5. The Theme: Druidism, of course, (RDNA, Celtic, British, 

Hassidic, Humanistic DNA, etc.,) must be either sad, poignant, 

sarcastic, patriotic (you can choose the country) or funny (or at 

least you think so.) Can't think of something? Try a theme, like; 

seasonal, related to search for awareness or wisdom, mocking 

other organizations, grove problems, vigiling, perverseness, love 

of spirits (alcoholic and otherwise,) struggle for simplicity, 

strange accidents, mythic-oriented, grove-politics, unusual 

members, life-cycles, urban paganism, gardening, etc. 

6. The Basic Rules: 

1. You have to write the words (or at least most of 

them) 

2. Collaboration is tolerated, but upon winning, those 

team members must devise a contest or duel to devise a 

final single winner. 

3. Preferably in English (Ancient English, Saxonese, 

Jutish, Scots, Brogue, or Middle English are acceptable, 

too) 

4. Has to be good enough to admit that you wrote it. 

5. You must use the music or tune from an existing 

established song (i.e. "Filk it,” but if you’re the only one 

who knows some arcane tune of 1734, no one else will 

appreciate it, and you will lose, so try to keep it popular.

Indicate the song & original authors with the lyricssubmission. 

6. Preferably, make the lyrics available to the Public 

Domain, or at least give us permission to publish them 

in our newsletter or ARDA 2. After all, you were not 

going to make any real money anyway, right?, and 

neither will we. 

7. Under 30 verses, please. 

8. Multiple entries (of different songs, that is) are 

encouraged, and raiseyour chances of winning. 

9. No using tricky curses to hinder other participants. 

10. There is no rule 10. 

7. Battleground: Possibly in A Druid Missal-any's issues, but if 

too many entries come in (which is a good thing,) a special Bardic 

edition may be made. 

8. The Contest's Judge: The judge will be Nozomi Kibou, AD of 

Akita, [nozomikibou@hotmail.com] 

She has volunteered to be the perfect impartial observer as 

1. she has no Bardic ability, 

2. fights with Pat frequently, 

3. doesn't understand English well. 

She will use divination to select the winner, such as counting 

junk-mail on successive days to judge each participant's favor 

with the gods. 

She also notes that bribes are accepted and appreciated. : ) 

You may write to Nozomi and give you opinions about various 

entries. 

Contestants 

Pat Haneke 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 12, 13 

Mari Ceolmhor 1, 2, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12 

Sine Ceolbhinn 1 

Mike Scharding 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 13 

Rhiannan Hawk 3, 10 

Ian Friesland 3 

K.D. Bennet 3 

Shane Saylor 4 

Gayla Paul 5 

Martin Victor 5 

Phillip Chapman Bell 5 

Arm Wrath 6 

Tegwedd 9 

Nozomi Kibou 12 

Donald Edwards 13 

The Winner 

The Winner was Tegwedd’s “Celtic Goddess Chant” from the 

Bardic Salvo #9: March 1st, 2002 because it was easy enough for 

Nozomi to understand, and rather useful at services for her, and 

she liked it. 

****** 

385 

Bardic Salvo #1: Nov. 1 st , 2002 

Love Ogham on the Stones 

By Patrick Haneke Akita Grove, RDNA 2001 

For the Public Domain. 

Based upon “Love Letters In The Sand” 

Words by Nick and Charles Kenny and Music by J. Fred Coots 

Written in the 30’s, but made famous by Patty Boone in the 50s. 

http://www.smickandsmodoo.com/aaa/1957/loveletters.htm for 

MIDI music 

On a day like today, 

We passed the time away 

Carving love oghams on the stones 

It’s been some years since you died, 

Yet my thoughts gently glide 

To those love oghams on the stones. 

CHORUS 

We made a vow that we’d meet in the next world 

Those dear thoughts now caught in lines straight and curled. 

Now my lonely heart aches 

With every dawn that breaks 

Over love oghams on the stones 

(whistling) Now my lonely heart aches 

With every dawn that breaks 

Over love oghams on the stones 

The Druid’s Lament 

By Mairi Ceolmhor, DC Grove of the RDNA 2001 

For the Public Domain and use at Funerals & Memorials 

Based on the “Streets of Laredo” in 1876 by Francis Henry 

Maynard 

Online Midi music files available at 

http://www.wildwestweb.net/camp.html 

As I walked out in the woods with my laddy-o, 

As I walked with my laddy-o one day, 

I spied an old Druid in a robe of white linen, 

Wrapped up in white linen and her hair was all gray. 

“O beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly; 

Skirl the bagpipes as you carry me along. 

Take me to the green valley and pile the rocks o’re me, 

For I’m an old Druid and this is my last song.” 

“I see by your outlook that you are a Druid.” 

These words she did say as I boldly stepped nigh. 

“Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story; 

I’ll soon be at rest and I know I must die.” 

“My friends and relations, they’ll live on without me. 

They’ve learned from my deeds, both the good and the wrong. 

Please, mourn but a short time, and continue your journeys. 

The living must accept death, both the weak and the strong.”

“I’ve spent all my life in the study of Nature 

And drank deep of life; including the dregs. 

I hope that you’ll explore the same paths as I did, 

For they’ve taught me well, and I have few regrets.” 

“Go gather around you a grove of young Druids, 

And tell them the lessons of this world, which are great. 

Sisters and brothers, learn of our Earth-Mother, 

Please, share Her wild wisdom before it’s too late.” 

“Get six brawny young lads to construct my grave mound; 

Get six witty young lasses to sing me a song. 

For when I come back, it’ll be my turn to bury them. 

I’ll visit the next world, but I won’t stay there long.” 

“Go bring me a cup, a cup of warm whiskey; 

Those bright waters-of-life,” the old druid said. 

Before I had returned, the spirits had left her. 

And gone to the far west - the Druid was dead. 

We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly; 

And solemnly piped as we bore her along. 

For all loved our comrade, so brave, wise, and gentle. 

We all loved that Druid and still sing her songs. 

*************** 

Bardic Salvo #2: Nov. 14 th , 2001 

Only Yew! 

Filked by Patrick Haneke, Akita Grove 

Year 2001. For the Public Domain. 

Original “Only You” By the Platters 

See http://www.niehs.nih.gov/kids/lyrics/onlyyou.htm for music 

file. Excellent Yew article 

http://www.indigogroup.co.uk/edge/oldyews.htm 

Spoken Intro by William Watson: 

Old emperor Yew, fantastic sire, 

Girt with thy guard of dotard kings 

What ages hast thou seen retire 

Into the dusk of alien things? 

“Start doo-wopping” 

Only yew is found near every church. 

Only yew will neither lean nor lurch. 

It grows a hard, tight grain, 

Makes bow staves both straight and true. 

It fills my heart with awe for only yew 

Only yew can live o’er four thousand years 

Only yew can outlast our worst fears. 

Only yew and yew alone 

Laughs at the passage of time. 

Whose name is famed and so easy to rhyme 

Only yew can guard the graves at night. 

Only yew’s leaves can kill with just one bite. 

I understand the magic that you do 

Making dreams come true. 

Yes! The one and only yew. 

386 


By Mairi Ceolmhor, D.C. Grove, Nov. 2001 

For the Public Domain (whether they want it or not!) 

Dedicated to Sister Sine, for dragging me out there onto the Hill 

in 1992. 

Recorded by: Ottis Redding, 1960s 

http://www.duchessathome.com/music/dockofthebay.html 

Sitting in the evening sun 

I'll be sitting when the morning comes 

Watching the fires burn down, 

Then I pile on the dry logs again, 

yeah I'm... 

{Refrain} 


Watching the stars spin around 

I'm just sitting on the Hill of Three Oaks 

Vigiling time 

I left my home in New York 

Headed for Minnesota 

'Cause I need beliefs to live by 

And looks like the Earth’s gonna be my Ma. 

So I'm just... 

{Refrain} 




Vigiling time 

Look like my life’s gonna change 

And yet seems to remain the same 

I won't believe what people tell me to do 

So I guess I'll play my own game. 

Yes, I'm sittin' here burning some wood 

And this loneliness will do me some good 

It's two thousand miles I roamed 

Just to make this hill my home 

Now, I'm just... 

{Refrain} 




Vigiling time 

{Whistle} 

BACK IN THE OLD GROVE AGAIN 

By Mairi Ceolmhor, D.C. Grove, 2001 

For Public Domain 

Dedicated to Mike for taking me with him on his last trip. 

Apologies to Gene Autry; “Back in the Saddle Again” 

I'm back in the old grove again 

Out where a friend is a friend 

Where we camp out every night 

Where the only law is "right" 

I'm back in the old grove again

Walking those woods once more 

Lovin’ the view out of doors. 

Where the long-cloaked students play 

While the lovely prairie sways. 


Whoopy-ti-yi-yo 

Swaying to and fro' 


Whoopy-ti-yi-ya 

This is just my way 


*********** 

Bardic Salvo #3: Dec 1 st , 2001 

While My Bagpipe Loudly Wails 

By Patrick Haneke, Akita Grove, Nov 30, 2001 

In honor of George Harrison’s Passing 

Modeled, obviously on, “While My Guitar Sadly Weeps” 

Listen to it at http://www.radiobroadcast.net/midi/beatles/ 

http://www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Frontrow/9990/ 

I think of your songs and the truths that they’re hailing, 

While my bagpipe loudly wails. 

I look at the clouds and I see that they’re sailing, 


From the moment you stepped on stage 

Your message hasn’t aged. 

How can your songs’ impact be gauged. 

Your words can’t be caged. 

I look at Mother Earth and I notice it’s turning 

While my bagpipe loudly wails 

With every season, old ways’ wisdom we’ll be learning 

Still my bagpipe loudly wails… 

We should’ve known a god had aired, 

His soul bared too, 

A new world view that was shared, 

How you cared, Lugh. 

I think of your songs and the truths that they’re telling, 


I look at the clouds………. 

Still my bagpipe loudly wails. 

Oh, oh, oh 

oh oh oh oh oh oh oh 

oh oh, oh oh, oh oh 

Yeah Lugh yeah Lugh 

yeah Lugh yeah Lugh 

387 

Old Druid’s Hill 

By Mike Scharding, DC Grove 

For the Public Domain, Nov 2001 

Original Artist Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill” 

For the music, see http://www.christeen.net/midi.html 

And choose Blueberry Hill (#6) 

I cast my spell on Old Druid’s Hill 

On Old Druid’s Hill when I called Lugh 

The moon stood still on Old Druid’s Hill 

And lingered until my dreams came true. 

The wind in the willow played 

A haunting melody 

And all of those vows I made 

Were made seriously. 

Tho’ I’ve moved on, a part of me’s still 

In those winds so shrill, on Old Druid’s Hill. 

Dreams 

By: Rhiannon Hawk of “Druid Heart Spirit Grove” 

Year 2001 For the Public Domain 

Original title was "Dreams" by: Fleetwood Mac 

http://pws.prserv.net/ggaynor/zmidi2x.htm to hear the tune. 

we are the Shining Ones 

we are the children of Danu 

remembering who we are 

celebration is past due 

being of the Otherworld 

our feet softly on the ground 

we are the one 

we are each a shining star 

we are twin soulmates 

see the lightning in our eyes 

it can pierce right through 

illusions in disguise 

behind your eyes 

there is no disguise 

(chorus) 

we are the winds on the oceans wave 

we are the sparkly in the crystal cave 

we are the wings of a hawk in flight 

we transform beings that have gained the sight 

we gaze upon the Seers pond 

what in the water did we see? 

now it's all green 

as if I'm flying through the trees 

now I'm back and the vision remains in me 

I get up off the ground 

and we circle round and round 

we each can see that our 

feet are up off the ground 

they make no sound 

up off the ground

(chorus) 

we are the winds on the oceans wave 

we are the sparkly in the crystal cave 

we are the wings of a hawk in flight 

we transform beings that have gained the sight 

Haiku Corner 

By Ian Friesland, Ice Floe Grove 

Ok, all you Asian aficionados out there- 

here’s the first ever known Antarctican Haiku (5-7-5 poem) 

South-pole’s Mid-Summer 

No trees, no birds, no rivers. 

And it is still cold. 

Leaves swept in river’s flow, 

Many colored, tossed and tumbling. 

This is retirement? 

The Existential Moment (1997) 

By K.D. Bennett or Spring Child of Berkeley 

'Tis a cold, dark night as all seem to be 

Melancholic, morbid, romantic characteristically 

One such as I who penned these words, being all entwined in me 

Can gaze out into this night and, nomadic, free 

Give thanks unto myself for quietude; night's hush 

Feels me flush 'gainst dream, feeling, thought; plush 

Is the plenty of leafy tree's rustling rush 

And the mystical chirping of dark friend cricket in that brush. 

*********** 

Bardic Salvo #4: Dec 15 th , 2001 

By Sine Ceolbhinn, D.C. Grove 

Yuletide Caroling 

Strangely enough, Christmas is one of the few times of the 

year that we feel like singing with our neighbours outside of a 

karaoke bar. Easter songs? A few. Groundhog Day songs? Not 

likely. We all want to sing, but trip over the uncomfortable lyrics, 

right? I decided to but together a little list of songs that a pagan 

could use in company with their monotheistic friends. 

I few hours of scanning the internet has given me a 

collection of popular songs that didn’t dwell on babies in food 

troughs, righteous crowns, deceased people with bird wings, and 

ecstatic shepherds hearing voices in the dark (won’t even go 

there.) I prefer my own improbable stories (grin.) Just change 

“Christmas” to “Yuletide” and most are okay. Santa Claus is 

rather unavoidable, but he’s nearly pagan, and so I let him slide. 

Many of the songs on the list below have on-line free music-files 

& lyrics at: 

http://www.chebucto.ns.ca/~ai251/xcarol.html 

Auld Lang Syne 

The Christmas Song (Chestnuts roasting) 

388 

Deck the Halls 

Do They Know its Christmastime at All? 

Frosty the Snowman 

Grandma Got Hit by a Reindeer 

The Grinch’s Theme Song 

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas 

Here Comes Santa Claus 

Holly Jolly Christmas 

Home For The Holidays 

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus 

I’ll Be Home For Christmas 

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas 

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year 

Jingle Bells 

Jingle Bell Rock 

Jolly Old Saint Nicholas 

Let It Snow 

O Christmas Tree 

Rocking Around the Christmas Tree 

Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer 

Silver and Gold 

Silver Bells 

Sleigh Ride 

That Christmas Feeling 

Up on the Rooftop 

We Wish You a Merry Christmas 

White Christmas 

Winter Wonderland 

Pondering Celtic Clans 

old castles where once the breath of life was strong 

reminds my of my slaughtered ancestors 

living in peace, joy, and strength 

gathering their children for the telling of tales 

now nothing but graveyards remain 

castles turned to funeral pyres 

and no one left to weep for them 

who were there first, and reeled 

at the beautiful bounty they experienced in nature 

a small candle, a sputtering torch 

a pile of dead wood gathered for the fire 

a fresh mug of herbal tea and a wan smile 

waking bleary eyed in the fog 

tending horses for their journeys 

who were not merely servants, but friends 

now thinking that all things must come to their ends 

and knowing ends for what they truly are 

new beginnings 

my that sounds pleasant 

but it doesn't do a thing for them 

my ancient ancestors of yore 

---kdbennett 

Untitled 

I loved them dearly, I loved them strong 

How we all used to get along 

In the sun and coming together 

In the rain light as Eagle's feather 

There, where the stone meets the sky 

A fire kept sealed in my mind's eye 

Which has seen stranger things 

Waits to behold what the future brings 

Patiently 

For the most part. 

---kdbennett

I Told The Arch Druid 

(A.K.A. “I told the Witch Doctor” or A.K.A. 

“Ooo-ee Ooo-ah ah, ting tang, walla walla, bing bang) 

By Mike Scharding, DC Grove, 2001 

Copyright not claimed. For the Public Domain. 

http://www.geocities.com/ohtoad/WitchDoctor.html 

I told my Arch Druid 

This grove just can’t be right. 


I sun-worship at night! 

And then the Arch druid 

She told me where to go: 

Chorus 

She said that; 

N.R.D.N.A, H.K., O.B.O.D., E.D., 

B.C.U. & B., T.D., B.D.O., O.B.D., 

E.D.O., U.A.O.D. , I.O.D., B.C.D., 

D.C.S.G, A.D.F., May B O.K. 4 U. 


Your site’s not cool at all. 


Your rocks are just too small 

And then the Arch Druid 


Chorus 


I want a group more wise 


Those robes don’t match my eyes. 



Chorus 

SPOKEN POETIC INTERLUDE #1 

You’ve been trying 

to ‘void me 

Just like I was a big jerk, 

And I’ll admit 

I wasn’t very smart. 

So I went out 

And found myself 

A real group whose magic works; 

Cuz you eagerly 

Showed me where to start. 


Let’s draw a pentagram, 


And call Gods from Viet-nam. 



(Actually, she was at a loss for words.) 

(But after a pause, this is what I heard) 

Final Chorus 

389 

Other Possible verses: 

SPOKEN POETIC INTERLUDE #2 

(You’ve been worshipping 

the Earth in 

forests, wide plains and desert, 

but I prefer 

sky-clad on a full-moon; 

But only indoors, 

With big crystals, 

Cuz I’m allergic to chills & dirt; 

So let’s postpone 

Beltane until late June.) 


I sacrifice pickles. 


A boomerang’s my sickle. 

And then the Archdruid 


Chorus 

(And then she really told me where to go….) 

(By the way, if you’re curious: 

New Reformed Druids of North America, Henge of Keltria, Order 

Bards Ovates & Druids, Ecole Druidique, British Circle of the 

Universal Bond, (James Bond?,) Temple of Danaan, British Druid 

Order, Order of British Druids, Enchanted Druid Order, United 

Ancient Order of Druids, Insular Order of Druids, Bandarach 

College of Druids, Divine Circle of the Sacred Grove, Ar 

nDraiocht Fein) 

(Couldn’t fit these in: 

Druidic Craft of the Wise, Celtic Traditionalist Order of Druids, 

Dalriada, An Druidh Uileach Braithreachas, Order of the White 

Oak, Reformed Druidic Wicca, Missionary Order of The Celtic 

Cross, Order of the Mithril Star, IMBAS) 

If I Had a Rich Grove 

By Patrick Haneke, Akita Grove, RDNA 

Dedicated to Isaac Bonewits & all of us out there with no liquid 

reserves. 

September 2001 For the Public Domain. 

http://www.broadwaymidi.com/shows/fiddler_on_the_roof.html 

http://www.hamienet.com/Broadway_Musical/F/Fiddler_on_the_ 

Roof/more2.alex (choose the longer one 4:55 version) 

Spoken introduction: 

“Dear Gods, you made many, many poor priests. 

I realize, of course, that it’s no shame to be poor. 

But it’s no great honor either! 

So, what would have been so terrible if I had a small fortune?” 

If I had a rich grove 

Daidle deedle daidle deedle daidle dum 

All day long I’d biddy biddy bum 

If I had a wealthy grove. 

I wouldn’t have to work hard 


If I had a biddy bidy rich 

Deedle daidle deedle daidle grove.

I’d build a big tall henge 

With stones by the dozen 

Placed in a million-acre wood, 

A fine green hill with a burial mound below. 

There could be one long labyrinth just going up 

And one even longer coming down 

And one more leading 

Nowhere just for show! 

I’d fill my grove with trees, 

Protect endangered wildlife, 

For the world to come and see, 

Filled with beauty and a campground. 

A peaceful place, no strife, 

Pollution or roads; 

Our woods like an island in the sea, 









Deedle daidle deedle daidle grove. 

I see my school, my college, 

Looking like a rich church’s school, 

With a proper faculty 

Researching Dru’dry to our heart’s delight. 

I see us drawing students 

All shuffling in baggy robes 

Oy! What a happy place we’d be, 

Singing at the bonfires day and night! 

If I were paid I’d have the time I lack 

To sit in the hill-top tow’r and pray 

And maybe have a seat by the eastern wall 

And I’d discuss the holy books 

With the learned folk 

Seven hours every day. 

That could be the sweetest thing of all. 

The most important folk in town 

Will come down to our woods. 

They will ask me to advise them 

Like old King Connor the wise; 

“If you please Arch Druid, 

Pardon me Arch Druid” 

Posing problems that would cross 

An Ollamh’s eyes. 

Draoi, Draoi, Draoi, Draoi, Draoi, Draoi, Draoi, Draoi. 

And it won’t make one bit of difference 

If I answer right or wrong. 

When you’re rich, 

They think you really know. 







390 


Deedle daidle deedle daidle grove. 



Gods help me reach these noble dreams, 

Yes, no matter how hard it seems. 

I’d even steal a dragon’s treasure trove, 

How I want a wealthy grove! 

Grief Stricken America 

By Shane A. Saylor 11.30.2001 

Old Glory flaps in the wind, soaked with [the] tears of the slain. 

The tears keep coming down in buckets, with end in sight. 

And yet, our own tears are mixed with theirs here on the 

ground. The ground is soaked with both blood and tears. And as 

I gaze at the hills above I wonder when the land will slide down 

And bury us in our grief. Our grief can smother us if we let it. 

But how do we fight something that comes in waves? That can 

come at unexpected times? How do fight something that is 

akin to quicksand? It threatens to pull us down, to weaken 

our resolve. Our morale has suffered a large wound. The time it 

will take to heal is immeasurable. America is wounded. And it is 

lashing out at our oppressors like a wounded animal. Yet I fear 

that this wounded animal will, with time, turn on its allies before 

it falls dead, its heart filled with vengeance and it soul filled with 

grief. 

************** 

Bardic Salvo #5: Jan 1 st , 2002 

I'm a Believer 

Copyrighted Parody by Gayla Paul of Corn Grove, Iowa,2000 

Original by Neil Diamond, copyright song “I’m a Believer” 1966 

Made famous by “The Monkees” & “Shrek” 

Colgems-EMI Music, Inc. (ASCAP) and Stonebridge Music 

www.midihaven.addr.com/midi/monkees1.html for music 

I thought Druids only lived in fairy tales 

Magic everywhere but not for me 

Life was out to get me 

That's the way it seems 

Then it came together like a dream 

I found sacred space 

Now I'm a believer 

Not a trace 

Of doubt in my mind 

I'm a Druid 

And I'm a believer 

I couldn't leave Her if I tried 

Earth-Mother blesses me with many things 

Laughing Be'al makes my heart feel light 

Now I walk in wonder 

In awe of everything 

Better even than my wildest dreams

I found sacred space 

Now I'm a believer 

Not a trace 

Of doubt in my mind 

I'm a Druid 

And I'm a believer 

I couldn't leave Her if I tried. 

Silbury Hill 

Filked by Dagda O'Flatterme Dagda 

Copyright 2001 by Martin Bernard Victor. 

The Fortunecity.com site I found the lyrics at did not list a 

copyright date. 

http://tinpan.fortunecity.com/riff/11/frame/b5.html 

But there is something I neglected to list. Satchmo only recorded 

the song. It was made most popular, by the cover made by Fats 

Domino. It was penned by Al Lewis, Vincent Rose, and Larry 

Stock It is possible that the song has passed into the public 

domain by now. The writers may be dead, and I doubt that their 

estate bothered to renew the copyright. For the music, choose 

Blueberry Hill (#6) at 

http://www.christeen.net/midi.html 

[ See Mike’s version of Blueberry Hill in Bardic Salvo #3] 

I found my thrill...on Silbury Hill 

On Silbury Hill...When I found you 

The moon stood still...on Silbury Hill 

And remained until...our magick came true. 

The winds in the oaks sang...Arwen's harmony 

And our hearts did pang...for our will to be 

And in my heart...it gives me a chill 

When I think of it still...of Silbury Hill 

I found my thrill...on Silbury Hill 

You were dressed in blue...when I found you 

We were awed...before the Gods 

And gave them our will...on Silbury Hill 

The wind in the oaks did play... our heart's melody 

And the troth we pledged...is fore'er to be 

And in my heart...it gives me a chill 

For you are my thrill...on Silbury Hill. 

Och, Baby, Baby, Yee’re’n Cannie Bard 

Pat Haneke, Akita Grove (with his worst Scots accent, apologies 

to all) Allegedly based on “It’s a Wild World” by Cat Stephens. 

For the Public Domain, made in January 2001 

Dedicated to Sine Ceolbhinn, may you one day learn to scat your 

lyrics better. : ) (Do not show this to a real Scotsman! He’d just 

tear apart my grammar and leave me bleeding for the insult after 

a good drumming on the noggin. ) 

catstevens.com/discography/songs/00102.html for MIDI tune 

Noo tha’ I’ve gied ev’ry sang tae you 

Ye say ye wanna sing sometin’ new 

An’ it’s breekin’ me hert’s you’se roamin’ 

Aye Lass, I’m gloamin’ 

Bit, gin ye wilna stey, tak guid care 

Howp ye hae muckle braw claes tae weir 

Bit than a muckle braw (t)hings birl ill oot thar 

391 

Och, baby, baby, yee’re’n cannie bard 

Tis sair tae mak do jist aboun ain sang 

Och, baby, baby, yee’re’n cannie bard 

I will ayeweys mind ye lik tae traivel, lass 

Ye ken I’ve larned muckle o aw thar warld dow dae 

An’ tis breekin’ me hart in twa 

‘kis I nivver wunta see ye dowie, lass 

Dinna be camsteerie, lass. 

Bit gin ye will nae stay, tak guid care 

Howp ye meit in wi cantie freen oot thar 

Bit jist mine ye thar’s muckle orra gowk fur shair. 

Chorus 

Lassie, I luve ye 

Bit, gin ye wilna stey, tak guid care 

Howp ye hae muckle braw claes tae weir 

Bit than a muckle braw (t)hings birl ill oot thar 

Chorus 

Incipit gestis Rudolphi rangifer tarandus 

An Old English Poem by Philip Chapman-Bell written in 1996 

Copyright © 1996 Philip Chapman-Bell; All Rights Reserved. 

Used with permission. Suggested by Lee Fugat. 

For usage, please contact: chapbell@crocker.com 

Hwæt, Hrodulf readnosa hrandeor – 

Næfde þæt nieten unsciende næsðyrlas! 

Glitenode and gladode godlice nosgrisele. 

Ða hofberendas mid huscwordum hine gehefigodon; 

Nolden þa geneatas Hrodulf næftig 

To gomene hraniscum geador ætsomne. 

Þa in Cristesmæsseæfne stormigum clommum, 

Halga Claus þæt gemunde to him maðelode: 

"Neahfreond nihteage nosubeorhtende! 

Min hroden hrædwæn gelæd ðu, Hrodulf!" 

Ða gelufodon hira laddeor þa lyftflogan – 

Wæs glædnes and gliwdream; hornede sum gegieddode 

"Hwæt, Hrodulf readnosa hrandeor, 

Brad springð þin blæd: breme eart þu!" 

Explicit 

Hrodulf the Red-Nosed Reindeer 

(Modern English translation) 

Here begins the deeds of Rudolph, Tundra-Wanderer 

Lo, Hrodulf the red-nosed reindeer – 

That beast didn't have unshiny nostrils! 

The goodly nose-cartilage glittered and glowed. 

The hoof-bearers taunted him with proud words; 

The comrades wouldn't allow wretched Hrodulf 

To join the reindeer games. 

Then, on Christmas Eve bound in storms 

Santa Claus remembered that, spoke formally to him: 

"Dear night-sighted friend, nose-bright one! 

You, Hrodulf, shall lead my adorned rapid-wagon!" 

Then the sky-flyers praised their lead-deer – 

There was gladness and music; one of the horned ones sang 

"Lo, Hrodulf the red-nosed reindeer, 

Your fame spreads broadly, you are renowned!"

*********** 

Bardic Salvo #6: Jan 15 th , 2002 

AMERICA 

Filk is written by Mike, DC grove. 

With inspiration from Pat Haneke, Akita Grove 

January 2002, for the Public Domain 

Original is “America,” written (& copyrighted)by Neil Diamond 

1980 Stonebridge Music (ASCAP) 

http://www.neildiamondhomepage.com/ for more on this bard. 

http://members.tripodnet.nl/roontje10/alpha2.htm choose 

Diamond’s America (4:01) although it’s hard to pick up the tune 

unless you are familiar with the original song. 

Some people have called the Middle East; the Holy Land. 

Perhaps it once was especially so, but many people who have 

resided there haven’t acted that way, nor have most others who’ve 

been through there in the last 3 millennium. For this new 

millennium, I don’t think that we need look any further than the 

dirt under our feet and the eyes of our neighbors to find the true 

Sacred. While we look to the British Isles and Europe for 

inspiration from the past, we take sustenance from the variegated 

soil of America for the future. I believe, the “America” song will 

be prominent at the Olympics. 

Free…. 

Only want to be free 

We huddle close 

Hang on to a dream 

In the towns and in the wood 

In mountain and plains of America 

Making religion that’s good 

It’s possible in America 

The Gods don't seem so far away 

We're out searching night and day 

Oh yes, we’ve been warned. 

Borne the brunt of their scorn. 

Home, is a green and a fertile land 

Plant our groves, trees rise tall and grand. 

Beltane’s fire burning warm 

Samhain's fire burning warm 

Everywhere throughout the Earth 

We’re reaching for Awareness. 

Old and New mix in rebirth; 

A strong faith, but with kindness. 

Got a dream to take us there 

The holy lands of America 

Got a dream we've come to share 

The holy lands of America 

Reformed Druids of America 




The morn, the noon, the eve, the night, the dawn! 

Our Mothers lie below! 

Let’s Pray 

Our Fathers high above! 

392 

Let’s Pray 

Our friends around! 

Let’s Pray 

Our hopes abound! 

Let’s Pray 

The Land of the Rising Sun 

By Patrick Haneke, Akita Grove 

Transcribed by Nozomi 


Original “The House of the Rising Sun” by the Animals 

Sung by Dylan and Baez often. 

http://celine-sa.hypermart.net/bd-midi.htm for MIDI music 

For those who don’t know it, Japan is known as the 

birthplace of the Sun and its mythology credits the Sun 

(Amaterasu) as giving birth to the Imperial Line and also all the 

people of Japan. They are the most advanced non-monotheistic 

country in the world, proving you don’t have one god to be clever 

or rich. I wrote this to counter Mike’s patriotism, and reassert the 

value of other countries. Perhaps we should say “We Cherish the 

Earth” more than “God Bless America,” since “it’s better to give 

than to receive” 

The Chords from the Original: 

(Intro) Am . C/g . |D/f# . F . |Am . E . *|Am . . . 

Am C/g D/f# F 

There is a house down in New Orleans 

Am C/g E 

they call the rising sun 

Am C/g D/f# F 

And it's been the ruin of many a poor girl 

Am E Am 

and me, oh God, I'm one. 

There is an island way out East 

They call the “Rising Sun” 

And it’s seen the start of every long day. 

And Gods adore this one. 

Tall forests carpet the mountainsides. 

Islands fringe the long coasts 

A land filled with lush greenery, 

Legends, faeries & ghosts. 

It’s a proud polytheistic land 

And so it’s reaped great wealth. 

And because they eat their vegetables 

They enjoy the best of health. 

They practice hundreds of ancient arts 

And each is a life-style. 

They learn skills both fine & practical 

Growin’ wiser all the while. 

A warm sun above and lava below 

A cool sea stretched around 

The people celebrate each passing season 

In city, village & town. 

They say there’s a god in every rock; 

Seven in a grain of rice. 

And there’s many methods to reach out to them 

Mixing some faiths can be nice.

There’s many a land that is still free: 

China, India, Vietnam 

But if you’d like to see a pagan paradise 

Go join the J.E.T. Program. 

There is an island way out East 

They call the “Rising Sun” 

And it’s seen the start of every long day. 

And Gods adore this one. 

Bard Arm 

March 25, 2000. Copyright 2000 

I am Arm Wrath, bard of my people's tree. A member of Ancient 

Circle's Grove located in upstate New York. My Archdruid, Inion 

An Daghdha has asked me to submit a poem to your contest. My 

God, Ogma has given onto me many a word, it is some of these 

that I wish to share with you now. 

If I - was to stand and sing, 

Of all that I saw and heard, 

People listen from the crowd, 

Come forth - for I will bring. 

Words and songs of old, 

Stories yet begun, 

Take a seat - for I will tell, 

Heroes actions all retold. 

Long ago - we wandered here, 

Strung out - all the way, 

Getting lost - some of us, 

Separated thru the years. 

Life seemed better - way back then, 

Once - I remember - long ago, 

Merry - we were - in our place, 

Till the others came - like a wind. 

Alive we must - keep our way, 

Turmoil swept our land, 

Running - fighting - hiding there, 

Gathering - moving - I dare say. 

Hold on - we tried to keep it tight, 

Time of passage - has it's way, 

One by one we stood and fought, 

People - ways - lost in sight. 

At times - I thought I saw, 

Of whom - I knew before, 

Wishing - sometimes in the way, 

Backwards - before the times of raw. 

Many of us - young and old, 

Warriors strong - thru and thru, 

Taught in ways - I can recall, 

Protect thy people - die or do. 

Here I am - before you now, 

Thinking - of what has come and gone, 

Descendants you - of what is left, 

Brought forth together - I see not how. 

One says this - another that, 

Why not old - why not new, 

Together - you should come, 

Form your tribe to be exact. 

393 

I am Bard of my people's tree, 

Nothing is easy in all of life, 

Memories past the ancestors speak, 

For thou - I bring - our history free. 

Solitary Druid 

By Mairi Ceolbhor, D.C. Grove 


Original “Sentimental Journey” by Bud Green, Les Brown & Ben 

Homer in 1944. Copyright 1944 by Morley 

Music co., Inc. 31 West 34 th St., NY., NY 10019. Renewed 1971. 

http://members.tripod.com/~RoseMcK/sentimental-journey.mid 

The vocal was sensitively done by Doris Day, despite unfounded 

fears of the extreme vocal ranges required. Some in the band first 

thought that the song was not going to connect with the kids, but 

at it's debut in the Hotel Pennsylvania's Cafe Rouge the kids went 

crazy! 

Gonna be a Solitary Druid 

Gonna choose my very own path 

Gonna be a Solitary Druid 

And renew ways from the past. 

Got my harp, got my bottled whiskey 

Spend some time in the deep forest 

Like a child on a magical journey 

I long to learn more before I rest. 

Bridge: 

Wisdom… that’s the thing I look for, wisdom. 

And with knowledge will come freedom 

Learnin’ every day a new lesson from 

Trees, birds, moon and sun. 

Never thought my life could be so fluid 

Will I e’er rejoin a grove? 

Gotta be a solitary Druid 

Solitary Druid for now. 

Solitary Druid. 

************* 

Bardic Salvo #7: Feb 1 st , 2002 

Only a Faery Song 

By Mairi Ceolmhor with Sine Ceolbhinn, DC Grove 

November 2001, for the Public Domain 

Original “Only a Northern Song” by George Harrison 

http://www.mainengineering.hispeed.com/ys_sounds.html 

If you’re looking for the truth 

You may think there is no perfect faith 

Then you’re right. 

The Gods made it like that. 

When you’re vigiling late at night 

You may see a group of white dancing lights 

And they are. 

They just tease us like that.

It doesn’t really matter how fast you go, 

What things you know or where you grow up at 

As it’s only a faery dance. 

It doesn’t really matter what clothes you wear 

Or if you’re bare or if you hair is blond; 

When it’s only a faery dance. 

If you think the harmony 

Is a little odd and out of key, 

You’re correct, 

They’re not using our rules. 

You look again, there’s no body there… 

Fairyland city 

Spoofed By Patrick Haneke, Transcribed by Nozomi, Akita 

Grove 

December 2001, for the Public Domain 

Original “Paradise City” by Axel Rose of “Guns & Roses” 

on the 1986 Album; “Appetite for Destruction” 

6 minute long MIDI music file at with long intro & interverse 

riffs at 

http://www.spaceports.com/~midi/MidiMania/metalmidis.html 

This was written after reading some of the stories of O’Carolan 

and other great blind harpers (many from Small Pox,) but others 

from “mysterious” causes. It’s a hell of a lot of fun to sing. 

Head thrashing, gyrating circles and long intro music, then: 

Seeking Faeries 

Livin’ under the mound. 

They’re a small race 

That’re rarely found. 

I’m your average bard 

Who by my oaths will be bound 

I’ll pay you back another time 

Whatever the cost, it’ll be fine. 

Ragz to richez or so they say 

Ya gotta-keep playin’ 

For the fortune and fame 

It’s all a god’s gift 

But what a great game! 

Ya must strum the harp with music divine, 

Mused songs must be bound in rhymes! 

Chorus Repeats Twice: 

Take me down 

To the Fairyland city 

Where the trees are green 

And the elves are pretty. 

Take me home! 

Sitting in the throne 

Of the host’s gilt chamber. 

How I’m here I can’t quite remember. 

The Fairy General says 

It’s hazardous to view. 

I’d have another audience; 

Then, I couldn’t see. 

Tell me if you’re gonna believe. 

Chorus Twice: 

Take me down 

To the Fairyland city 

Where the trees are green 

394 

And the elves are pretty. 

Take me home! 

Mystic Bridge Chorus: 

So far away 

So far away 

So far away 

So far aw---ay! 

All my senses were torn apart 

No, I’m a famed minstrel 

With a guided heart 

One day- 

They’ll come around and 

Take me back to that Court 

Could I be losin’ my mind- 

“Am I blind?!” 

Well, which world are we looking at!? 

Chorus repeats on and on, with interspersed groans and cries! 

Note: The live version often uses 

“(Oh, won’t you please) Take me home” in the chorus 

The Work of the Wee-Folk 

By Mike Scharding, DC Grove 


Original was “The Work of the Weavers” a classic Scottish song. 

For chords and lyrics see 

http://www.hcs.harvard.edu/~celts/songbook.shtml# 

http://www.hcs.harvard.edu/~celts/songbook.shtml 

You’ve surely met the fairies, but just didn’t see. 

They’re in ev’ry rocky brook and are found within the trees. 

There’s little that would come to good, I’m sure you’ll agree 

If it wasn'a for the work of the wee folk 

The Chorus 

If it wasn’a for the wee folk what would ye do 

You wouldnae hae the food that is in your stew 

You wouldn’a hae the leather for your coat or shoe. 

If it wasn’a for the work of the wee folk 

There's soldiers and there's sailors and glaziers and all 

There's doctors and there's ministers and them that live by law 

And our friends in South America though them we never saw 

But we ken all need the work of the wee folk 

Chorus 

They whisper advice’n songs in our ears at night. 

They tend to our livestock when they wander out of sight 

And raise crops so they grow up straight, strong and right. 

So we’ll drink to the health of the wee folk. 

Chorus 

If wee folk’s around we never can tell 

So It’s best we heed their aid and reward them well 

They love a tune, crumbs, a dram or a shiny bell 

Now let’s drink to the wealth of the wee folk! 

Chorus

************ 

Bardic Salvo #8: Feb 15. 2002 

Killing us Softly with His Rules. 

By Patrick Haneke, Jan 2001, Akita Grove, for the Public Domain 

Original “Killing me softly with his song” by Roberta Flack or 

Charles Fox, 1970s, and dedicated to you know who. 

MIDI file at http://www.clinton.net/~sammy/rflack.htm 

Dedicated to all the Isaacs and Mikes out there who are too busybodied 

and make organization and systems way too easy to 

achieve. Back to the Mystery!:-) 

We heard he ran a good grove. 

We heard he had a style. 

And so we asked for his help, 

To lead us for a while. 

And there he was, this young man, 

A leader in our eyes. 

Chorus: 

Being too strong in his methods 

Muffling our group with his thoughts 

Killing us softly with his rules, 

Killing us softly, with his rules, 

Drowning our old ways with his words 

Killing us softly, with his rules…. 

At first everything went smoothly 

Our finances made a rebound. 

But our dynamism came to a halt 

Unable to break new ground. 

I prayed that he’d slow down 

But he just kept right on. 

Chorus 

He ruled as if a business, 

He prayed through a script 

Bound this flower up with red tape. 

Those files were a crypt 

Too careful, afraid of mistakes. 

Blindly spinning a shroud. 

Chorus 

The Ways, We are Reforming. 

By Mike Scharding, DC Grove of RDNA 

(Based on Dylan’s “The Times, They are a-Changin’”) 


http://celine-sa.hypermart.net/bd-midi.htm choose #2 version 

4/4 Moderately 

| Dm/A | G/A | Gm/A | A || 

||: Dm7 | G | C | F | Dm7 | G | Am | Am | Dm7 | G | C | E | 

| Am | F | G | C | Am | D/F# | G | F | C | F | Bb | Bb | 

2. | A | A :|| 3. | A G/A | A || 

Come gather ‘round Druids 

Wherever’s your grove; 

And admit that old beliefs 

Must continue to grow. 

And accept our paths will split 

Into dozens of kinds. 

If wisdom to you 

395 

Is worth learnin’, 

Then you better start searchin’ 

And get off your behinds. 

For your ways, we are reformin’. 

Come preachers and ministers 

Who hold tight to your flock. 

Who discourage free inquiry, 

Hide in churches made of rock. 

Y’all drop the long tirades 

Step out and see the sky; 

For the students of Nature 

Don’t need conformin’. 

Let’m think for themself, 

And always ask “why?” 

For your ways, we are reformin’. 

Come Senators, Congressmen 

Please protect that wise wall 

Between the church and state 

That protects the faith of all. 

I elected you to govern, 

you do not need to preach. 

I don’t want to see greedy 

Churchs’ lobbyists swarmin’. 

Tell them to go home, 

And just let the schools teach. 

For their ways, we are reformin’. 

Come Sisters and Brothers 

Throughout this great land 

And don’t criticize 

What you don’t understand. 

For if it doesn’t work, 

Then it’s time to adapt. 

Don’t be too afraid to get lost 

Or think it’s alarmin’. 

For it’s one way of many 

And the divine isn’t all mapped 

For the ways, we are re-formin’. 

We don’t have all answers 

We don’t claim to be best. 

But our system is flexible, 

And simpler than the rest. 

Stretch your leaves to the sun, 

Don’t let dogma take root. 

Yes, our wry, witty ways 

And customs are charmin’. 

But for numbers and fame 

We don’t give a hoot. 

For our ways, we are re-formin’. 

EXTRA VERSE 

(at no charge, please insert before last verse) 

Rights are no use on paper 

If you’re not free in your head 

If it’s your way “or else” 

Well, then I’d rather be dead. 

Go on freely with your faith 

And let me go with mine 

I don’t need your saving 

It works just fine. 

Tell me, can mortals judge 

The will of the Divine? 

For the ways, we are re-formin’.

Romantic Songs for your Deity 

By Mairi Ceolmhor 

I've thought how easily so many romantic songs are and how 

religious many of them become after you replace the thought of 

your Lover with the God of your choice. This is all very Sufic, or 

in a way, Khalil Gilbran-esque. Classic examples are "You light 

up my life,” "I will always love you." and so on. Of course, if the 

lyrics are too physical (i.e. "Baby's got back,”) it requires a 

greater metaphysical leap to appreciate the symbolism. Go 

through your favorite love songs, and see if they could be used 

liturgically. 

-Happy Valentine's Day 

Mairi 

******* ****** 

Bardic Salvo #9: March 1 st , 2002 

Celtic Goddess Chant 

From Tegwedd 

Here is my entry for the next Bardic. It is based upon a very 

popular Pagan chant. My friend Tyroch Windtraveler didn't care 

for it because it didn't have any Celtic Goddesses in it, so I came 

up with one which is all Celtic Goddesses. When you post it, 

say that it's based on Isis, Astarte...author unknown. 

Brigid, Cerrydwen, Morrigan, Arianrhod 

Macha Bludewedd, Rhiannon 

R.D.N.A. 

Filked by Mike Scharding, DC Grove 

February 2002, for the Public Domain 

Original “YMCA” by Village People, 1970s 

www.niehs.nih.gov/kids/lyircs/ymca.htm for words & music! 

The RDNA began about April 17, 1963. We begin “Year or 

Worship” XL (i.e. 40) and will celebrate our 40 th anniversary on 

May 2003, next year of course. This song is dedicated to all those 

who’ve given us the chance to make it possible. 

Young One, just take a look around 

I said, Young One, you know you come from the ground 

I said, Young One, see that life-giving brown 

There’s no need to be unhappy. 

Young One, there’s places you should know 

I said, Young One, when you’re tired of sin & woe 

You can pray there, and I’m sure you will find 

Many ways to have a good life. 

Chorus Part 1: 

It’s good to pray with the R.D.N.A. 

It’s fun to play with the R.D.N.A. 

You have everything in the world to learn from 

You can have religious freedom. 

396 

Chorus Part 2 



You can make yourself whole 

You can have a good drink 

You can try whatever you think 

Young one, are you listening to me? 

I said, young One, what do you want to be? 

I said, Young One, you can make real your dreams, 

But you’ve got to know this one thing… 

No faith, knows it all by itself 

I said, Young One, put your dogma on the shelf 

And just go there, to the R.D.N.A. 

I’m sure it will turn out okay. 

Chorus Pt. 1 & 2 

Young One, I was once in your shoes 

I said, I was down and out with the blues 

I felt, no church would accept my views 

I felt there was nothing to choose. 

That’s when something came over me 

And said “Young One, take a walk in the woods, 

There’s a grove there, called the R.D.N.A., 

They can start you back on your way.” 

Chorus Pt. 1 

R.D.N.A. 



Young One, Young One, you don’t need complex rules 

Young One, Young One, those are just for the fools. 

R.D.N.A. 

Just try out the R.D.N.A. 

Young One, Young One, Take ideas from the past. 

Young One, Young One, mix new thoughts to make it last. 

R.D.N.A. R.D.N.A. R.D.N.A. R.D.N.A. 

*********** 

Bardic Salvo #10: March 15 th , 2002 

Here We Are 

By Rhiannon Hawk, Druid Heart Spirit Grove 

March 2002. Copyright reserved. 

I really haven't figured out if there is another tunes melody this 

would fit into, but here it is. 

from the blackness like night 

through the coldness of winter 

you push with might 

into glowing embers 

your dreaming ancestors 

willing a future of light 

are here now 

stirring a cauldron so bright

So, here we are again 

going our separate ways 

on paths that come back again 

learning to find our ways 

Green, the freshness of Earth 

your bare feet in the springtime 

you've walked this path beginning, no end 

the fire's burning a beat so quickening 

no more advise 

the fire's where it all starts 

So, here we are again 

trying to become One 

when we have won 

we learn we are all one 

In nature now 

lies an energy so hot 

from the Earth it bursts forth 

energy balls to the top 

releasing from the Earth's core 

healing rays that wont stop 

then rushes up as before, 

the red dragon flies up 

Above in the trees voices are singing 

of the freedom you'll find 

when you find yourself there 

so clear as the stars 

your vision unfolds 

your true self inside the heart holds 

I Am a Man of Constant Borrow 

By Mairi Ceolmhor, DC Grove 

Feb 2002, for the Public Domain 

Soggy Bottom Boys---I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow Feat. 

Dan Tyminski taken from the “O Brother Where Art Thou” 

musical 2001, which is an Appalachian version of The Illiad and 

the Odyssey. Soundtrack is marvelous. This song won a grammy 

for blue-grass, I believe. Long beard optional. Sorry for sexist 

“man,” but, feel free to add “grrl” or whatever one-syllable word 

defines you. 

History at http://www.bobdylanroots.com/sorrow.html 

Music & Vocals at 

http://artists.mp3s.com/artist_song/1275/1275296.html 

Dylan snippet: http://www.bobdylan.com/songs/sorrow.html 

Tables: http://www.ezfolk.com/bgbanjo/introtab/man-bg/manbg.html 

(INTRO CHORUS In constant borrow through his days ) 

I am a man of constant borrow 

I’ve found wisdom in most faiths 

I bid farewell to Minnesota 

The place where I was taught and raised 

(CHORUS: The place where he was taught and raised) 

For twelve long years I’ve been at study 

Much over-lap here on earth I found. 

Though, in this world I’m bound to ramble 

I have the gods to guide me now. 

(CHORUS: He has the gods to guide him now.) 

It’s fare thee well my old beliefs 

You won’t see me again in your church 

397 

But, I’m bound to glean from religions 

Until I die, I must still search. 

(CHORUS: Until he dies, he must still search) 

I’ve been to deep ocean, hill and valley 

Not knowing just where my path lay 

But I’ll keep my ear to the Earth-Mother 

Cause sky, fish n’ trees have a lot to say. 

(CHORUS: Cause sky, fish n’ trees have a lot to say.) 

Maybe your priests think I can’t get stranger 

My faith is well thunk to the core 

But it is quite simple in its tenets 

Some times less really is a lot more. 

(CHORUS: Sometimes less really is a lot more.) 

Spring Time is on the Rise 

By Patrick Haneke, Akita Grove 

February 2002, for the Public Domain 

Original “Time Is On My Side” by Norman Meade 

www.geocities.com/Athens/Forum/4713/midis/timeisonmyside.m 

id 

Or http://home.swipnet.se/~w-35264/lyrics/time.html for words & 

MIDI 

This would be an excellent invocation for a Druid Ritual, note 

that “Spring” in the chorus doesn’t scat well, so you have to fit it 

into the following drawn out “time” on the upbeat. 

Spring Time is on the rise (Yes it is) 


Now the Gods knows that we hate to be cold. 

So spring'll come skipping back, it'll come running back 

It'll come blazing back to us. 

Yeah, Spring Time is on the rise (Yes it is) 


You're searching for good times, but just wait and see 

It'll come blazing back... 

Go ahead, baby, go ahead. Go ahead and set up the plough 

And baby, plant anything your heart desires 

Remember, it'll always be back again 

And I know like the Gods told you so many times before 

Spring’s gonna come back 

Yeah, it’s gonna come back, baby 

Shinin', yeah, shinin' right in the grove, yeah! 



Cause it’s got the real warmth, the kind that we need 

It'll come blazing back... 

Spring, time, time time is on the rise (Yes it is) 

I said, Spring time, time, time is on the rise (Yes it is) 

I said, Spring time, time, time is on the rise

******** 

Bardic Salvo #11: April 1 st , 2002 

“Don’t Scry Out Loud” 

Mairi Ceolmhor, D.C. Grove 

March 2002, for the Public Domain 

Original was “Don’t Cry Out Loud” –Sung by Melissa 

Manchester 

Words by Carol Bayer Sager and Music by Peter Allen 

Music at : 

www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/8678/dontcryoutloud.mid 

Baby cried the day the new priests came to town 

‘Cause she didn’t want the courts to start accusing her 

So she put her ash on her head and wore a burlap gown 

Then she joined that convent in the briars 

I know a lot about ‘er ‘cause, you see 

Baby is an awful lot like me. 

Chorus Twice: 

Don’t scry out loud 

Just keep it inside, learn how to hide you talent 

Fly high and proud 

And if you should tell, remember the divine has changed names. 

Baby saw when they pulled that big tree down 

They burnt-up all her dreams during that winter 

The different kind of god now wore a frown 

There was nothin’ left but sawdust and some splinters. 

But baby can’t be broken ‘cause you see 

She had the precious acorns –from that tree- which told ’er 

Chorus Thrice 

Why Do Fools Join My Grove? 

(Why Do Fools Fall in Love?, Beach Boys Version) 

by Mike Scharding, D.C. Grove 

2001 for the Public Domain 

Doom Bopa Doom Bopa Doom Bopa Doo Dut 

Ooh wah ooh wah ooh wah 

Why do fools join my grove? 

Why do most refuse t’pay? 

Vig’lers fall ‘sleep at the break of day? 

Why do fools join my grove? 

Why is Beltane snowed on from above, 

So cold I must wear gloves? 

Where’s our Gods’ joyful love? 

Why can’t my bard write even simple rhymes? 

Why do our rituals take so much time? 

Tell me why, why. 

Why did I start this grove? 

Why do fools fall in wells? 

Why can’t we work a spell? 

Moon doesn’t come up at night? 

Why can’t things work out right? 

Why is Beltane snowed on from above, 

So cold I must wear gloves? 

398 

Where’s our Gods’ joyful love? 

Tell me why, why 

Why can’t we be tax free? 

Tell me my, why 

Why do I still bother? 

*** *** 

Bardic Salvo #12: April 15 th , 2002 

Are You Sleeping? 

By Nozomi Kibou, Akita Grove 

Jan, 2002, for the Public Domain. 

Are you sleeping, are you sleeping, 

Brother (or Sister) ________? 

Boozing Dru’ds are snoozing. 

Boozing Dru’ds are snoozing. 

One more cup? 

Yea, One more cup! 

Are You Sleeping Tonight? 

By Pat Haneke, Akita Grove, 

Nov. 2001, for the Public Domain 

In memory of Nozomi’s First Vigiling Attempt. 

Original Lyrics By Roy Turk/Lou Handman sung by Elvis 

“Are You Lonesome Tonight?” 

Music at http://www.christeen.net/midi.html 

Are you sleepy tonight? 

Do your eyes feel tight? 

Are you sorry you drifted asleep? 

Does your memory stray to a bright Beltane day, 

When you laid with him(her) in the forest deep? 

Do the rocks in the grove site seem pointy and hard? 

Do you gaze at the campfire and wish to be a bard? 

Are your eyes filled with sand? 

Do faeries walk the land? 

Tell me dear, are you sleepy tonight? 

SPOKEN IN A SULTRY VOICE: 

I wonder if you’re sleepy tonight. 

You know staying up gets harder with age. 

And each of us plays a role. 

Fate has me waiting in the woods while you’re in the grove 

Part One you lit the fire 

It burnt bright at first light 

I shared some thoughts, so sincere, and never missed a cue 

Then came Part Two 

Your armor chinked, you went to think 

And sigh…, I should’ve known 

Honey, you lied when you said you’d rested today 

But I had no cause to doubt you 

Now the fire’s gone out and I’m standing there 

In the rosy rays of dawn’s light. 

So, if you just can’t stay awake, 

Then we can try another night. 

SINGING 

Is your head filled with rest? 

Would next ev’ning be best? 

Tell me, dear, are you sleepy tonight?

I Can’t Help Falling Asleep at Night 

By Mairi Ceolmhor, DC Grove 

Nov. 2001, for the Public Domain 

Original song “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” 

Which was written by Perettil with Weis & Elvis Presley 

For the tune: http://www.christeen.net/midi2.html 

Wise men say don’t drink much wine 

But I couldn’t help falling asleep at night 

And don’t lean up against that pine 

‘Cause I can’t help falling asleep at night 

Like the river flows 

Flowing to the sea 

Darling so time goes 

Some tries weren’t meant to be 

Take my hand, I can’t stand-up right 

‘Cause I can’t help falling asleep at night. 

No, I can’t help falling asleep at night. 

**** **** **** 

Bardic Salvo #13: May 1 st , 2002 

May (in Minnesota) 

By Pat Haneke, Akita Grove. October 2001 

Based on the classic song “Stay, Just a Little Bit Longer” 

No copyright is claimed, for the Public Domain. 

Seductively spoken intro: 

“Oh baby, let’s go and play in the field, 

and see what treasures they may yield, 

I know there’s frost on the grass at dawn, 

But, I pray that the Gods’ll hear this song.” 

(start “Doo-wopping!”) 

May, ahhhh!, be a little bit warmer! 

Please, please, please, please, please, 

Tell me that you will warm-up. 

Now the rain I don’t mind, 

And the wind I don’t mind, 

If we have a nice warm day, ya, 

Just one more time. 

Oh, won’t Beltane be, just a little bit warmer, 

This cold saps all our youthful ardors. 

Won’t you place your sweet lips to mine, 

Won’t you say you love me ‘spite frost & rime. 

Oh, ya, just a little bit warmer, 

Please, please, please, please, please, 

Tell me that you will warm-up. 

Come on, come on, come on, May, 

Come on, come on, come on, May, in Mi-nne-so-ta. 

Come on, come on, come on, May, May , May, May 

Come on, come on, come on, May. 

399 

Mother Earth 

By Donald Edwards, 2001, for the public Domain. 

Currently composing music, but feel free to make your own 

tune or give me a call and I’ll sing it for you. 

The morning dew lays upon the grass, 

As golden rays shed first light, 

The songbirds sing in the beginning, 

And help chase away the night. 

A gentle breeze softly blowing, 

Each little blade and stem, 

And whispering among the trees, 

And sway each Bardic Hem. 

Her breath as sweet as heather, 

Her touch as soft as fine sand, 

Her essence breathing new strength, 

To all across the land. 

Praise the loving Druids, 

Who tend her with such care, 

For they do know the love she gives, 

And her gifts she does willing share. 

HEAR THESE WORDS OF THE DRUIDS, 

FOR ALL YE LEND AN EAR, 

OUR GREATEST LOVE IS OUR MOTHER EARTH, 

WITHOUT HER, WOULD YOU BE HERE? 

The shouting is intended to fill the world with awareness of 

all Mother Earth does for them.

A Book of Songs 

and Poetry 

Volume Seven 2003 

The 2002-3 Bardic Contest 


In the Time of Sleep between Samhain 2002 and 

Beltane 2003, the RDNA had a bi-weekly Bardic filk 

contest wherein the members took popular tunes and wrote 

new lyrics. We had over 40 entries during these 25 weeks, 

and I hope that they provide use in liturgies, festivals and 

late night bonfire sing-a-longs. Please check with the 

original authors, regarding use of copy-right materials. 

Rules of the Contest 

I cordially invite the reader to pass the winter 

doldrums away by writing poetry, stories, songs and chants. 

You need not submit (we are not "Islam,”) but I strongly 

urge you to pay off the karma of avoiding those forest walks, 

because you're afraid of freezing your tootsies off in the 

cold. 

Last year we had 15 competitors, and despite Mairi's 

departure, I hope that everyone will get over their shyness 

and share their thoughts. Due to a resounding lack of 

competitors for judgeship, I will oversee the contest. I will 

be impartial as necessary. Send them to me, Eric Powers, at 

ericpowers229@hotmail.com 

Standards 

1. Poems, songs, chants, short stories are accepted. About 2 

or 3 will be published at 

www.geocities.com/mikerdna/bard2.html every 2 weeks 

starting November 1st until May 1st (inclusive.) 

2. We are not responsible for lost compositions or your 

local weather. 

3. We do not recompense the author, and the top three 

selections (chosen at then end by me and a dart board) will 

only receive slim praise and a metaphoric warm pat-on-theback. 

4. The words must be your own, but paraphrasing and 

spoofing is fine. 

5. You may borrow pre-existing tunes (i.e. "filk" them) or 

send original music files with a simple tune (no vocals, 

perhaps, to save space) plunking out the melody. 

6. All submissions are assumed to be without copyright and 

internet published as Book of Songs and Poetry without 

profit to anyone, unless the poster indicates otherwise. 

7. Overtly racist, sexist, genderist, and other nasty stuff will 

be nixed, but if you’re clever enough to do so subvertly, 

congratulations. 

8. No bribes under $1000 will be accepted. We must have 

our principles. 

9. Non-seasonal topics are accepted (you can write summer 

poems for December) and this is no preferred bias for 

humor or depressive tones. 

10. There is no #10. 

400 

Participants 

Anonymous #1 

Pat Haneke #1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 12 

John #1, 2, 7, 13 

BrightMirage #1, 2, 3, 8 

Nebraskan Druid #2 

Keith Deem #2 

Cheeky RDNA Druids #2 

Mike Scharding #3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13 

Danae Jett #4 

Nozomi Kibou #4 

Eric Powers #4, 5, 10 

Rachel #5 

Missouri Druid #6 

Shane #7 

Sweetfaery #8 

Caroline Boston #9 

Various Authors #10 

Chris Middleton #11 

Mairi Ceolmhor #11 

Victoria Dunseith #13 

Oriana Lewallen #13 

Jeanette Randal #13 

Vanessa Sanders #13 

The Winner 

The winner was Bright Mirage’s “I Am” in Bardic Salvo #3 on 

Nov. 28 th , 2002. Eric thought that although Mike and Pat should 

get award for sheer output, his favorite submission was Mirage’s. 

Her work was a powerful example of the questing spirit common 

in the Reform and should strike a chord on the heart strings of all 

the Druids. He also thought she would make a capital poet, 

despite using only lower case. 

Bardic Salvo #1: Nov. 1 st , 2002 

Unpronounceable Deity Chant 

From Anonymous, July 2002 

Sung to "Isis Astarte" 

Public Domain 

"I thought it would be nice to add my own version to the award 

winning spoof from last year. Here you go." 

Camaxtli, Canzotz, Tlaloc, Tlazolteol, 

Hunapu, Itzamna, Xochipilli 

I Will Survive 

By Pat Haneke, Akita Grove, June 2002 

"I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaylor in the 70s 

For the Public Domain 

www.superseventies.com/midijukebox/iwillsurvive.mid Music 

"Okay, it's a bit over the top, and I'm really not this bitter, but 

some people are, and this song is for them. Keep up the good 

fight." 

At first I was afraid I was petrified 

Kept thinkin' I could never live 

Without your God by my side 

But then I spent so many nights

Thinkin' how YOU did me wrong 

And I grew strong 

And I learnt how to get along 

I know your belief system is corrupt 

I just walked in to find you here 

With that flock of sheep to back you up 

I should have made you read other books 

I should have made you love diversity 

If I'd've known for just one second 

You'd be back to bother me. 

Go on now, go walk out the door 

Just turn around now 

('Cause) you're not in charge anymore 

Weren't you the one who tried to 

Hurt me with the "good" book 

Did I crumble 

Did you think I'd kneel down and cry? 

Oh no, not I. I will survive 

Oh as long as I know how to think 

I know I'll stay alive; 

I've gone and joined a Druid group 

To my sick soul they're chicken soup, and 

I'll survive, 

I will survive. Hey hey. 

[Interlude] 

It took all the strength I had not to scratch n' chafe 

Kept trying hard to mend the pieces 

Of my broken faith 

And I spent oh so many nights 

Just feeling sorry for myself 

I used to cry 

But now I hold my head up high 

And you see me with new gods 

I'm not that chained up little person 

Like all you silly clods 

And so you feel like droppin' in 

And just expect me to recant, 

Now I’m savin' all my prayin' 

For some gods who aren't tyrants. 

Go on now, go walk out the door 

Just turn around now 

('Cause) you're not in charge anymore 

Weren't you the one who tried to 

Hurt me with the "good" book 

Did I crumble 

Did you think I'd kneel down and cry? 

Oh no, not I. I will survive 

Oh as long as I know how to think 

I know I'll stay alive; 

I've gone and joined a Druid group 

To my sick soul they're chicken soup, and 

I'll survive, 

I will survive. Hey hey. 

[Repeat various verses and choruses and fade away....] 

Mabon 

By John Odencrantz, Aug. 2002 

Original poem/song. Copy Right Reserved 

401 

"A Nov. 1 contest date could be a little late for the topic, but here 

goes, anyway. Lots of obscure allusions to Welsh stories and, yes, 

I'm a Dylan Thomas fan. I may send more stuff later." 

A dog, a deer, a bird were half the reasons 

for sun and seasons, balancing their light, 

sent raving roving fools beatific visions 

of trees blown half ablaze from crown to root. 

The light and shadow thrashing in the leaves, 

the pruning knife that splits and joins the wood, 

the corn and hazelnuts affirm "My love's 

a raven in the snow, three drops of blood." 

Eagle and owl, unlucky love-birds! Black- 

in-white-in-black or white-in-black-in-white 

of bird-in-eye-in-bird, this deadly pact 

is scribbled in a folded beam of light. 

A sooty hen among her milky barley 

reverts to woman's shape to give it birth. 

Where midnight sea waves rock the Bardic boy 

her moon's egg hatches out a universe. 

Wild One 

By BrightMirage , Bamboo Grove, Summer/Fall 99 

Original Poem, so if anyone should choose to use any of it, please 

have them contact me at psyche@udel.edu 

... 

i am the wild one 

she of the midnight black hair 

streaked with shimmering gold, 

flowing in the breeze 

... 

the one with the wild glance 

untamed, feral 

whose silver laughter 

glistens in the 

morning mist and evening fog 

... 

the night breeze whips around my face 

invigorating, tantilizing, enticing. 

wings of phantom fire 

spread as i take flight 

... 

a spring into the air, and i am 

in my element 

soaring above the grey, 

silent, bleak world 

... 

light as Hawk's feather 

strong as Spider's silken strand, 

i take this time to nourish my Soul 

... 

the Earth below me 

Rain clouds above 

Fiery wings upon my back 

Air upholding me 

... 

True freedom is found, 

Peace comes in a fleeting moment 

to rest in my Soul

****** 


By John Odencrantz, July 2002 

Original Poem. 

Samhain 

Samhain This mask foretells a vulture silence 

and skeleton. Do apples grow 

in gardens on the mermaids' islands? 

We feed our devils money now. 

Our gape engulfs the creatured ocean, 

a bag of SUVs our goad. 

Facing-Three-Ways, with her question, 

is seated by a forking road. 

Thunder crackles in a reed. 

For morning's children, bird and leaf, 

a lantern head will nurture seed 

or clock wheels grind our fears to grief. 

In time the Washer at the ford 

reclaims her shamed or honored sword. 

Knockin on Samhain’s Door 

By Anonymous RDNA Druid from Nebraska 

Nov 2002, For the Public Domain 

Original Lyrics from Bob Dylan’s “ Knockin on Heaven’s Door” 

1967 

http://bobdylan.50g.com/BD-BDYLAN- 

Knockin'%20On%20Heaven's%20Door-1.mid for music. 

Server, take these ribbons from me 

I can't use them anymore 

It's getting too dark to see 

Feel I'm knocking on Samhain's door 

Chorus: 

Knock, knock, knockin' on Samhain's door (x4) 

Server, put the whiskey away. 

We won't use them anymore 

Winter's here with sober days 

I feel I'm knockin' on Samhain's door. 

Chorus: 

Knock, knock, knockin' on Samhain's door (x4) 

[Repeat final quartet as needed.] 

The Fallen Celt 

By Keith Deem (keithdeem@theriver.com) 

Original Poem 

October 2002 Copyright reserved 

"I am not a Reformed Druid of North America, but consider 

myself practiced in the Bardic arts, and loyal to the 

concepts of Druidry. My name is Keith Deem. My poem is a 

desperate and sad warning to use our resources wisely, and listen 

to those who try to preserve them. Here is my poem. Sincerely: 

Keith" 

402 

The warrior poet arose before the dawn of time, 

Ascending against evil within the soul of man, 

Searching for balance and steadfast truth, 

Love and memories from the heart, 

Struggling to overcome the self, 

That greed that destroys all, 

The diverse existence, 

Lamenting despair, 

Always hoping, 

Until, 

All has perished, 

Dreams of evermore, 

All has faded to extinction, 

When not even the fittest survive, 

There can be no survival of the fittest, 

The desire of the few consuming all there is, 

All that will ever be, wasted, fading, falling, marching 

Over the earth’s trampled tears and poet’s broken heart, 

Into the endless void of ebb and flow, the deep sleep of time 

I Am the Very Model 

of a Modern A.D.F. Druid 

By Some Cheeky Reformed Druids , 

Original "I am the very model of a modern major-general" 

For the Public Domain, Oct 2002 

http://math.boisestate.edu/gas/pirates/p13.mid for music. 

"Apologies tendered in advance to A.D.F., but the muse has 

spoken." 

SENIOR DRUID 

We are the very model of the ADF syndicate 

Completed all the paperwork in 501-c triplicate 

My documents have stated that I really can go hug a tree 

As long as all the hugging will reflect the proper P-I-E 

Although the Druids didn't live in parts of southern Pakistan 

The ADF has told me go ahead and be one if I can 

If Dumezil has said its so then ADF law it shall be 

Who cares if it is Celtic because memberships are all we need 

ALL 



Who cares if it is Celtic because memberships are all we really 

really need 

SENIOR DRUID 

We are a church because the state says so categorical 

With a dozen staff involved in matters financ-i-al 

Our seminary program was first and really quite radical 

Even though the grading staff has gone on a sabbatical 

ALL Our seminary program was first and really quite radical 

Even though the grading staff has gone on a sabbatical 

SENIOR DRUID 

I know our mythic history from Celtic to Indo-Iranian 

I can cite the gods from Nordic lands to Peloponesian 

I spend my nights in libraries with ancient texts thick in dust 

I have not time for trees since for Druids study is a must 

We're the fastest growing religion with lots of new improvements 

Unfortunately our numbers are dropping due to poor recruitment 

We've given up that Wiccan bunk and moved up since R.D.N.A. 

We've dropped such colorful excesses and instead chose a dismal 

grey

ALL 

They've stopped such colorful excesses and instead chose a 

dismal grey 


dismal grey 


dismal grey 

SENIOR DRUID 

Then I can write a washing bill in old Irish on birch ogham sticks 

And tell you how a high culture was preserved by some illiterate 

hicks 

When we say "Why not excellence?," our ego, please do not 

suspect 

For to play along with the Big Boys you must first earn their 

respect. 

ALL 

When we say "Why not excellence?," our ego, please do not 

suspect 

For to play along with the Big Boys you must first earn their 

respect. 

SENIOR DRUID 

In fact, when I know what is meant by "Robbie Burns" and "La 

Tene urns' 

When I can tell at sight a Valkirie from the thunder god Perkon. 

Producing such accomplished priests is our proud specialty 

Why, in fact, in twenty years we’ve produced about two or three. 

When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern 

theology 

When I know more of dogma than a novice in organic chemistry 

In short, when I've finally mastered the world's longest liturgy 

You'll say a better modern Druid priest has never touched a tree. 

ALL 




SENIOR DRUID 

For our religious knowledge, though we're pluck and adventury, 

Tries to merge modern life with one back Thirty century 

No four quarters, our's is divided into the earth, sky and fluids 

We are the very model of the modern A.D.F. Druids 

ALL 

No four quarters, our's is divided into the earth, sky and fluids 

We are the very model of the modern A.D.F. Druids 

A Million to One 

By Bright Mirage 

Original Poem 

Summer 98, Copyright 

"Here are a few of my poems...each starts at the -title- (just stating 

the obvious.) thanks! all should be credited to BrightMirage as the 

author. if anyone should choose to use any of it, please have them 

contact me at psyche@udel.edu Thanks!" 

... 

hope beyond hope 

can there be some 

miracle 

to beat the odds 

a million to one... 

heavy words 

... 

403 

what about the one? 

whispery-winged hope 

fluttering beyond the 

bondage of probability 

and sour reality 

... 

fly free 

come to me tonight 

give me hope that 

it is possible to 

scorn the gray 

bleakness of the world 

and soar in the 

azure and brilliant silver 

sky 

... 

i want to fly above 

the grey rain clouds 

dance above the mundane... 

exist in a world of 

emotion passion soul and spirit 

free and unchained 

****** 


They Call Me Fluid Druid 

By Pat Haneke 

Oct 2002 For the Public Domain 

Original Song "Mellow Yellow" by Donovan 1966 

Music at 

www.geocities.com/CapeCanaveral/Cockpit/1344/midi/Mellow.m 

id 

I'm just mad about rock rings 

Green trees give me a thrill 

I think deep on most things 

Sip long nights on a hill 

{Refrain} 

They call me fluid druid 

(Quite rightly) 


(Quite rightly) 


I'm just mad about triples, 

Wales, Gaul, Ireland 

I'm just mad about sickles 

World in a grain of sand 

{Refrain} 

Past ideas behind follow 

Forward new unknown road 

Heard ways broad and narrow 

Tending seeds that I sowed 

{Refrain}

(So fluid, he's so druid) 

Eclectical religion 

Is gonna show us some new ways 

Eclectical religion 

Is bound to be growing these days. 

{Refrain} 

Rock rings, yeah,.. .. 

Green trees give me a thrill 

I think deep on most things 

Sip long nights on a hill 

{Refrain} 

(Oh so fluid, oh so druid) 

{2nd verse, Refrain, 3rd Verse. Refrain, 4th Verse, Refrain, etc. to 

fade} 

Reformed Druids 

By Mike Scharding, Digitalis Grove 

Nov 2002, Public Domain 

Based on "New York, New York" by Frank Sinatra 

Right-click below to open a new window to listen to the sing-along 

music at http://users.cis.net/sammy/newyork.htm Yet 

another pro-RDNA anthem. (^o^)/ 

[Short musical prelude] 

Winds blowing off leaves, I'm seeking a new way 

I want to be a part of those Reformed Druids 

These vagabond shoes, are longing to stray 

Right through the many mysteries, Reformed Druids 

I want to grow out in a new faith, that doesn't cringe 

And find I'm not that bad off - here on the fringe. 

Those little mind blues, are melting away 

I'm gonna make a brand new start of it - with the Druids 

If I can find truth there, I'll find it everywhere 

I'll walk with you - Reformed Druids. 

(Musical interlude) 

Re---formed Dru---ids 

I want to grow out in a new faith, that doesn't cringe 

To find one way, yea, one way among many 

Jump through the fires and with hardly a singe 

Those little mind blues, are melting away 

I'm gonna make a brand new start of it - with the Druids 

If I can find truth there, I'll find it everywhere 

I'll walk with you - Reformed Druids. 

-I am- 

By BrightMirage 

Original Poem 

Spring 1999 

Here are a few of my poems...each starts at the -title- (just stating 



contact me at psyche@udel.edu Thanks! 

404 

a whirlwind spirit 

dancing thru the flames 

leaping into the clouds 

touching the crystal rain 

reaching for the sun 

... 

striving to belong 

as the eagle on the wind 

as the porpoise in the sea 

as the tiger in the forest 

... 

seeking a higher light 

a ray of hope 

a purpose and meaning 

in the madness of life 

... 

seeking a peace 

that will soothe the pain 

that lurks in my soul 

behind the bright smile 

and pretty eyes 

... 

seeking to fill 

the void in my soul 

that aches for love 

with a love that will 

reach beyond 

the limits of Time 

... 

seeking true wisdom 

tried and true 

something to guide me 

in the confusion of 

the multitude of answers for sale 

in this world 

... 

seeking to believe 

in something higher than myself 

to trust and believe 

with all of my heart ... 

Healing 

By BrightMirage 

Original Poem 

Spring, 1999 

Here are a few of my poems...each starts at the -title- (just stating 



contact me at psyche@udel.edu Thanks! 

heart of darkest midnight 

arms reaching out for comfort 

... 

grey mist swirls upwards 

cloaking, concealing, 

comforting 

... 

hide me away in your heart 

Mother Gaia 

let me rest awhile 

from the weary world 

... 

free me of the pain that 

throbs thru my mind and being

... 

bless me with 

the joy that resides in the spring 

the freedom of the eagle in the air 

the patience of the tiger on the prowl 

the playfulness of newborn cubs 

the wisdom of the owl 

the delight of the dolphins riding the waves 

... 

nourish me and care for me 

in my time of weakness and pain 

... 

heal me with 

the gentle murmur of the breeze 

the renewal of the rain 

the everlasting power of the waves 

the silent power of the rocks 

the freshness of growing things 

the gentle warmth of the sun 

the cool caress of the moon 

. 

******* 

Bardic Salvo #4: Dec. 11th, 2002 

The Netherworld 

by Danae Jett a.k.a. "Jade Wolf" 

Oct 2002 For the Public Domain 

Original Song "Mellow Yellow" by Donovan 1966 

Right-Click below and open a new window to listen to the music 

http://www.smickandsmodoo.com/aaa/lyrics/margaritaville.htm 

Here's something I composed about 2 years ago. It pretty much 

summed up my confusion as a newbie back then. 

Sittin' on my front porch, playing with my Quija board, 

Trying to find someone to make sense of it all. 

I called up Gerald Gardner to be my magickal partner. 

He just said, "Hey, woman, leave me alone!" 

Wasting away again in the Netherworld. 

Searchin' for my lost Tarot cards. 

Some people claim that there's a Christian to blame, 

But I know it's nobody's fault. 

Tried to read Crowley, but he's kind of scary. 

That damned LaVey gave me the wrong kind of advice. 

But, Laurie tried to helped me, and Scott never left me, 

But what they said, I don't understand at all. 


Searchin' for my lost Tarot cards. 

Some people say that there's a Jew to blame, 

But I know, hell, it could be my fault. 

Don't know the reason I stay here all season. 

I have nothing to show but this magickal name. 

But it's kinda pretty, and a wee bit silly. 

What It means I haven't a clue. 


Searchin' for my lost Tarot Cards. 

Some people claim that there's a Hindu to blame, 

But I know it's my own damn fault. 

405 

Winter Window 

By Nozomi Kibou, Akita Grove 

December, 2002, for the Public Domain 

Original Poem. 

All is good here 

The snow is deep, 

Lots of warm beer 

Earth is asleep. 

Minnesota 

By Mike Scharding & Eric Powers, Digitalis Grove 

Nov, 2002, for the Public Domain, 

Original: Shenandoah is a traditional song. 


at http://tinchicken.com/songs/country/shenan.htm 

What a beautiful MIDI, it's almost hymn like. You can change 

Minnesota to California or whatever mystical destination you'd 

like. 

Oh Minnesota, I long to see you. 

Way hey, you fields & forest 

Minnesota, I long to see you. 

Away, we're bound away, 'cross the wide Potomac [or any large 

river or mountain range] 

O Minnesota, I love your autumn 


Your falling leaves, say snow will soon come 

Away, we're bound away, 'cross the wide Potomac 

O Minnesota has frightening winters 


Her fierce cold wind, make snowmen shiver 


Seven Years, I went to Carleton 


Seven more, a lonely quest 


Oh Minnesota, I must now depart 


But you remain in mind & heart 


Oh Minnesota, now over mountains 


Minnesota, you're wisdom's fountain 


Missionary’s Song ("It's Not Unusual") 

By Pat Haneke, Akita Grove RDNA, 

August, 2002 for the Public Domain 

Lyrics: "It's not Unusual" by Tom Jones 


http://www.heavenlywebs.net/midis/oldies/itsnotunusual_tjones. 

mid 

NOTE: Please do not throw underwear at the author. 

It's not unusual to worship a jealous desert god 

It's not unusual to have theology that is too hard

But when I see you worshiping nature like some clod 

It's not unusual to hear me cry, "Oh I hope you fry!" 

It's not unusual to deny all the gods, but one, 

So, I hate to see you dance and prance praising the sun 

If your god fails, she's fake, but with mine, it's a mystery 

It's not unusual it'll happen soon some day, no matter what you 

say. 

So, We pull it off nearly all the time 

Folk just never do what I want them to 

Why can't this crazy crowd be mine? 

It's not unusual to undercut other faiths 

It's not unusual to say that they're unsafe 

But if I ever find that you've weakened at anytime 

It's not unusual to find I'm trying to convert you. 

Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh 

My Wishy-Washy Faith 

By Mike Scharding, Digitalis Grove 

December, 2002, for the Public Domain 

Original by Billy Ray Cyrus (c.1995) "Don't Tell My Heart (My 

Achy-Breaky Heart)" "Goodness, but this is a catchy beat. I had a 

great deal of trouble considering what I'd do if someone dis'ed my 

faith (if that's what it is,) and the most violent comeback I could 

think of, was a careful examination of their own idiosyncrasies 

from an outside perspective (i.e. mine.) Hope you enjoy it. By the 

way, wasn't Dis (Pater) one of the Gods that Caeser said the Celts 

worshipped? If so, dis-ing is in our nature too! " 

http://captain-dave.com/music_factory/achybrky.mid 

You can say our group is just eclectic soup 

That we have no plan for when life ends. 

You can say our church will leave us in a lurch 

And we won't go to heaven with your friends. 

Yes, we love our trees, so don't cut them down please 

They clean your air and shade your city streets 

You can keep your high walls, we'll answer nature's call 

And yes our fashion's just two tied bed sheets. 

But don't dis my faith, 

My wishy-washy faith, 

I know you think we're just some fools; 

And if you dis my faith, 


You might hear yours judged by our own rules. 

You can say you're pure, boast dogma's fine allure 

And morals chiseled in ancient days, 

We have our own codes, that we've picked up on the road 

We all can disagree and that's okay. 

You can stay that stones, plants, animals alone 

Will never fill our soul's deepest needs 

But we can think ourself, or read books from the shelf 

We have a garden where you see only weeds. 

But don't dis my faith, 


I know you think we're just some fools; 

And if you dis my faith, 


You might hear yours judged by our own rules. 

[Repeat final chorus 6 or so times] 

406 

ACHY BREAKY HEART LINE DANCE 

CHOREOGRAPHER: Irene Groundwater 

COUNT: 32 TYPE: 4 Wall Line Dance LEVEL: Beginner 

MUSIC: Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus 

GRAPEVINE TO THE RIGHT WITH A TOUCH 

1-2 Right foot steps Right, Left crosses behind Right 

3-4 Right foot steps Right, Left touches beside Right 

LEFT FORWARD, RIGHT SLIDES TO LEFT, REPEAT 3 

TIMES 5-6 Left foot forward, Right slides to Left 

changing weight onto Right 

7-8 Left foot forward, Right slides to Left foot changing weight 

onto Right 


onto Right 


onto Right 

GRAPEVINE TO THE LEFT WITH A TOUCH 

13-14 Left foot steps left, Right crosses behind Left 

15-16 Left foot steps left, Right touches beside Left 

3 STEPS BACK WITH A TOUCH 

17-18 Right steps back, Left steps back 

19-20 Right steps back, Left touches beside Right 

LEFT FORWARD, RIGHT SLIDES TO LEFT, LEFT 

FORWARD, TOUCH RIGHT BESIDE LEFT 

21-22 Left steps forward, Right slides to left foot changing weight 

onto Right 

23-24 Left steps forward, Right touches beside Left 

(1/4 TURN RIGHT) RIGHT FOOT FORWARD TO RIGHT, 

TOUCH LEFT TO RIGHT 

25-26 Right foot faces to the right (1/4 turn right,) Left touches 

beside Right 

(1/2 TURN LEFT) LEFT FOOT FORWARD TO LEFT, TOUCH 

RIGHT TO LEFT 

27-28 Left foot faces to the left (1/2 turn left,) Right touches 

beside Left 

GRAPEVINE TO THE RIGHT, FINISH WITH WEIGHT ON 

LEFT FOOT 

29-30 Right foot steps Right, Left crosses behind Right 

31-32 Right foot steps Right, Left closes to Right 

REPEAT DANCE PATTERN AGAIN AND ENJOY 

*Choreographed for South Granville Seniors Center Line Dance 

Class for "Galaxy of Stars" Event 

Note: This step description may be freely copied and distributed, 

but may not be altered or re-written without the 

permission of the choreographer. All rights reserved. 

From: aiground@attcanada.ca (Irene Groundwater)

******* 

Bardic Salvo #5: Dec. 26th, 2002 

Earth Goddess 

By Eric Powers, Digitalis Grove, RDNA 

Nov. 2002 for the Public Domain 

Original “Teen Angel” by Mark Dinning 

Music at http://www.garyrog.50megs.com/midi/teenangel.mid 

INTRO: 

Earth Goddess, Earth Goddess, Earth Goddess, ooooooh…. 

That Samhain night, the door was closed 

The hand reached from the crack 

We rushed to you, but we were late, 

Carried away, but looking back 

CHORUS: 

Earth Goddess, can you hear me? 

Earth Goddess, are you near me? 

Are you somewhere down below? 

In Spring, will you let the new plants grow? 

What was it you were looking for, 

When he took you that night? 

They say they found a pomegranate 

Clutched in your fingers tight. 

Chorus 

Just six long months that you'll be gone 

They'd taken you away. 

I hope to drink your waters again 

On that joyous warm May Day. 

Chorus 

Earth Goddess, Earth Goddess 

Answer me, please... 

Under the Dolmen 

By Pat Haneke, Akita Grove, RDNA 

December, 2002 for the Public Domain 

Originally “Under the Boardwalk” by the Drifters 

Music www.discoverynet.com/~ajsnead/allsongs_1/bdwalk.html 

[Sidhe is pronounced "Shee"] 

Oh when the sun beats down and burn the flowers on the heath 

And your head get so hot you wish you were ten feet beneath 

Under the dolmen, down with the Sidhe, yeah. 

On a tartan with my lassie is where I'd be. 

From the road you hear the haunting sound of wee bag pipe 

Mm-mmm, you can taste the apples which are always ripe 

Under the dolmen, down with the Sidhe 


Chorus: 

(Under the dolmen) out of the sun 

(Under the dolmen) we'll be havin' some fun 

(Under the dolmen) people working above 

(Under the dolmen) we'll be making love 

Under the dolmen (dolmen!) 

407 

[break] 

Ooooh, under the dolmen, down with the Sidhe, yeah 


Chorus 

Solstice Song 

By Rachel 

July 17, 2002/07/29 

(Adapted from the popular Christian song "Shine Jesus Shine") 

Music home.att.net/~icu8/midis/christian/shinejesusshine.htm 

This came to me at about 1am last night as I was trying to 

sleep...ah well. A belated Solstice song, but it might work for 

other holidays as well. Guitar chords might be on TabCrawler 

someplace, but the search function is down and I don't know who 

wrote the song, which is the only way to find songs at the moment. 

It works as an a capella tune in the meantime. 

Shine, Be'al, shine, 

Fill this land with your Solstice blessings 

Blaze, balefire, blaze, 

Purify us tonight 

Flow, chalice, flow 

Let the Waters-of-Life be blessed 

Send forth the Sun, Bel 

And celebrate the light! 

I've Got Friends in Stone Circles 

By Mike Scharding, Digitalis Grove in D.C. 

December 2002, Public Domain 

Original song by Garth Brooks, “I’ve got Friends in Low Places” 

Music at http://captain-dave.com/music_factory/friends.mid 

[Short intro music] 

I upset those elites 

I showed up in sheets 

And ruined their interfaith prayer 

The rest had one god 

I looked like a clod 

I was barefoot with flowers in my hair 

I saw the surprise 

And concern in their eyes 

When I did a wild ritual dance 

They might not call 

Me to their winter ball 

But I don't mind if there's no chance. 

'Cause I've got friends in stone circles 

Where the whiskey flows, and the sickles 

cut my blues away 

And I'll be okay 

I'm not big on dogma's shackles 

Think I'll stick close to those natural cycles 

Oh, I've got friends in stone circles 

Well, I guess I did wrong 

I just don't belong 

Perhaps, it was my sacrifice? 

I guess its no good 

I should stay in the woods 

And just three escorts should suffice (oof!) 

Hey I didn't mean 

To cause a big scene 

Just gimme an hour out there and then

Well, I'll be as high 

As that place in the sky 

That you're so desperate to go in 

'Cause I've got friends in stone circles 

Where the whiskey flows and the sickles 

Cut my blues away 

And I'll be okay 

I'm not big on dogma's shackles 

Think I'll stick close to those natural cycles 

Oh, I've got friends in stone circles 

[Repeat chorus twice or until the end] 

Optional 2nd Verse: 

Well, I guess I did wrong I just don't belong 

Perhaps, it was my sacrifice? 

I guess its no good 

I should stay in the woods 

And just three escorts should suffice (oof!) 

Hey I didn't mean 

To cause a big scene 

I thought you'd like diversity 

Be dull, if you please 

I'll head back to the trees 

And resume my own ministry 

“Friends in Stone Circles” LINE DANCE 

CHOREOGRAPHER: Unknown 

DESCRIPTION: 4 Wall Line Dance 

LEVEL: Beginner 

COUNTS: 24 

By the way, CCW="Counter Clock wise" 

COUNTS / STEP DESCRIPTIONS 

ROCK STEPS: 

1-4 Weight on left foot, begin with right foot rock forward then 

return weight to left foot. 

Step right foot back to rock backward, then return weight to left 

foot. 

1-1/4 PIVOT TURNS - 3 LEFT PIVOT TURNS AND 

STOMP/CLAP: 

5-12 Step forward on right foot then change weight to left foot 

and make a 1/2 turn CCW. 

Step forward on right foot then change weight to left foot and 

make a 1/2 turn CCW. 

Step forward on right foot then change weight to left foot and 

make a 1/4 turn CCW. 

Stomp with Right Foot, then clap and hold for last count while 

shift weight to left to get ready for the Raggae steps. 

RAGGAE RIGHT - STEP RIGHT, WIGGLE, BRING LEFT 

NEXT TO RIGHT: 

13-16 Step Right Foot to side for two beats, wiggle, 

Bring Left Foot beside right on third beat, wiggle/hold on 4. 

RAGGAE LEFT TWICE - STEP LEFT, WIGGLE, BRING 

RIGHT NEXT TO LEFT: 

17-20 Step Left Foot to side for two beats, wiggle. 

Bring Right Foot beside Left, wiggle/hold on 4. 

21-24 Step Left Foot to side for two beats, wiggle. 

Bring Right Foot beside Left, wiggle/hold on 4. 

BEGIN AGAIN! 

408 

****** 

Bardic Salvo #6: Jan. 15th, 2003 

I'm Going to Start A Grove 

By Mike Scharding, DC Grove, RDNA 

Dec. 2002 for the Public Domain 

Original “I'm in the mood for love” by Dorothy Fields 


at http://www.piano-bar.com/pages/moodlove.htm 

I'm going to start a grove 

Simply, because they're near me. 

Funny, when Druids're near me 

I'm going to start a grove. 

When birds fly in the skies, 

Bright as the stars we're under 

Oh, is it any wonder 

I'm going to start a grove? 

Why stop to think of whether 

This little dream might fade? 

We've followed paths together 

Now we are one, we're not afraid. 

If there's a cloud above, 

If it should rain, we'll let it. 

That too's wisdom, we'll get it. 

I'm going to start a grove. 

One is the Loneliest Deity 

By Anonymous RDNA Druid in Missouri 

Jan. 2003 for the Public Domain 

Original "One is the Loneliest Number" by Three Dog Night 

Music at http://www.geocities.com/laylaskye/one.mid 

(Music start) 

One is the loneliest deity that you'll ever have 

Two [or three] can be as bad as one 

It's the loneliest pantheon since the number one 

(Music) 

"Mono" is the saddest experience, I've ever known 

“Uno,” is the dullest experience, to play alone 

'Cause one is the loneliest system that just will not grow. 

When you've the loneliest deity, it won't let you go. 

It's just no good anymore since They went away 

Now I spend my days, just seeking ways, trying to pray 

One is the loneliest deity 

One is the loneliest deity 

One is the loneliest deity that you'll ever know 

One is the loneliest, one is the loneliest 


It's just no good anymore since They went away

Number 

One is the loneliest 

Number 

One is the loneliest 

Number 


(Repeat in various forms) 

Like a Vigil 


September, 2002 for the Public Domain 

Based on “Like a Virgin” by Madonna 

www.beautifulmadonna.com/midi/likeavirgin.mid is hipper. 

I went into the wilderness 

Somehow I made it through 

Didn't know how lost I was 

Until I found you 

I was beat, incomplete 

I then cried, I was dyed black and blue, 

But I found my god 

Yea, I found my god 

Dalon ap Landu 

Like a young god (Hey!) 

Invoked for the very first time 

Like a young god. 

When your winds talk 

Back to me 

Gonna give you all my prayers, Dal 

My fears are fading fast 

Been saving them all for you 

'Cause only truth can last 

You're so fine and you're mine 

I'll grow strong, yeah, I'll be divine 

Oh your way unleashed 

Yea, your ways unleashed 

Me from fears and lies. 

Like a young god (Hey!) 




Back to me 

Oooh, oooh, ooohh 

As a sign, I'll build a shrine 

I love your whiskey, (and not His wine.) 

'Cause it makes me feel 

Yeah, it makes me feel 

Like a fire that shines. 

Like a young god 




Back to me 

Like a young god, ooh, ooh 

Like a vigiler 

So much truth inside 

When I hear you, and you wind blows, and you join me 

409 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh 

Ooh, Dalon 

Can't you please join with me in the dance of time? 

****** 

Bardic Salvo #7: Feb. 2nd, 2003 

Brigit Goldenhair 

By John Odencrantz 

Jan 17, 2003, for the Public Domain 

Original was “Sister Golden Hair Surprise” by America 

Music at http://www.siennabasenjis.com/sisterg.mid 

If you try to worship Sunday you will get too damned depressed. 

They may turn their light on one day, but for now just let them 

rest. 

Plant a tree at nature's altar, cycle plastic, write a rhyme. 

Just to stew in darkness sure would be a crime. 

Others never think about her, Brigit Goldenhair. You try, 

But you just can't live without her, though it's hard to say just why. 

Every day you're more despondent, hope is too too hard to find. 

That's when Brigit blows her flame into your mind. 

When the year's in winter's middle, when the snow is in the air, 

When the icicles are brittle then you know that Brigit's there. 

Try to fake it, I don't mind sayin' it just won't make it. 

Others never think about her, Brigit Goldenhair. You try, 

But you just can't live without her, though it's hard to say just why. 

Every day you're more despondent, hope is too too hard to find. 

That's when Brigit blows her flame into your mind. 

When the year's in winter's middle, when the snow is in the air, 

When the icicles are brittle then you know that Brigit's there. 

Try to fake it, I don't mind sayin' it just won't make it. 

Nobody Does it Simpler 

By Pat Haneke, Akita Grove 


Original “Nobody Does it Better” by Carley Simon 

(“The Spy Who Loved Me”) 

Music at http://www.geocities.com/laylaskye/noboddoesbet.mid 

Nobody does it simpler 

Among many, you’re just one way 

Nobody does it with such good humor 

Druids,… you're okay. 

I wasn't lookin' 

But somehow you found me 

I tried to hide from your fire’s light 

But like ravens above me 

The Gods who love me 

Are teaching all their secrets through the night 

And nobody does it simpler 

Though sometimes I wish someone could 

Nothing fills me quite the way you do 

From my bare-feet up to my hood. 

The ways that you told me 

Whenever you told me 

There's some kind of magic inside you 

That keeps me from runnin'

So just keep them comin' 

How can I learn to do those things you do? 

No one does it simpler 

Among many, you’re just one way 

Nobody does it with such good humor 

Druids 

Druids 

Dalon, you're o-kay 

Druids you're o-kay 

Druids you're o-kay 

Crazy For You 

By Pat Haneke at Akita Grove 


Original “Crazy for You” by Madonna from “Vision Quest” 

Music at http://www.sequinsbyeileen.com/midi/crazyforyou.mid 

(music prelude) 

Swaying trees as the warm wind blows 

Druids watching the mixed whiskey’s flow 

Four directions, now linked, become one 

We can see you through the smoky air 

What kind of lesson will you now share? 

You’re so close, but still a world away 

What I’m dying to say, is that 

CHORUS: 

I’m crazy for you 

Teach me once, and I’ll seek what’s true 

I never wanted any faith like this 

It’s all old yet new, 

I’m crazy for you, 


Trying hard to direct my soul 

Insight’s arrival is beyond control 

In the woods we meet, no words at all. 

Slowly, now as I leave my youth, 

Every breath, I’m deeper into truth 

Soon we both are dancing free in time 

If you read my mind, you’ll know 

CHORUS: 


Teach me once, and I’ll seek what’s true 

I never want any faith like this 

It’s all old yet new, 

I’m crazy for you, 


LAST PART (fade out): 

It's old and yet new, 

I'm crazy for you 

And I must seem a fool 

I'm crazy, crazy for you 

410 

The Bloodletting of War 

By Shane A. Saylor January 21, 2003 

The shell hits the ground exploding with a thunderous clap. 

Spraying sand and earth everywhere, it hides the gross reality 

of war for only a small time. The hallowed eyes of the dead 

stare unendingly at the soldiers as the march by, always staring, 

never blinking. The eyes of the dead have the unique power of 

stirring the soul of even the most cold hearted soldier. 

The soldiers trek from one battle to another, trying not to let 

their emotional and physical fatigue show through their 

hardened exterior. But they cannot fight it much longer. The 

constant swing of adrenaline rushes is taking its toll on them. 

And they wonder how much longer until allies are enemies and 

somebody dies of a avoidable mistake. 

The generals keep sending them out, hoping the next battle 

will bring an end to this gruesome conflict. Too many have 

died in this holy war against terrorism. Grudge matches have 

no place on the battlefield. And this is exactly what the Iraq 

confrontation is. A grudge match to end all grudge matches. 

And there are no victors in a grudge fight. 

The hatred in the air is as thick as bile, and just as foul tasting. 

The hatred blinds all to the reality that war makes no heroes, 

no great people. It only creates loss of life, loss of hope for 

peace. In the beginning and the middle of any war, there is 

no hope, only despair. It hangs over all like a blanket of eternal 

sadness, offering no escape. 

And what of the children, the official of the war-torn country 

wonder. What about the children slain in this unholy 

conflagration??? What about the children who have lost their 

kin to this war? Who will feed them, care for them? Who is 

willing to reach out and offer hope to those without hope? 

Who will answer, answer the cries of the children in the night? 

What embargos and tariffs do the beaten face? Who decides 

whether or not our victims deserve our help after we have 

devastated their homeland? After we have nearly destroyed 

all remnants of their culture? And do we idly sit by and wonder 

when they will visit on us the harsh lessons we have taught them? 

Or do we take action to help them? 

But ponder this as you view the children dying in the streets 

of their hometowns, a town they thought safe. What price are 

we going to pay in the future for our actions? With each child, 

we take away their future. Who are we to decide their fate? 

----- 

What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath 

of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow, which runs 

across 

the grass and loses itself in the sunset. - Crowfoot, Native 

American 

warrior and orator (1821-1890)

****** 

Bardic Salvo #8: Feb. 15th, 2003 

Ode to the RDNA Anthology 

By sweetfaery_hm@msn.com January 2003 

Sung to the tune of "This is the song that never ends" 

This is the book that never ends 

It just goes on and on my friends, 

Some Druids started writing it 

Not knowing what it was. 

And they'll continue writing it forever just because 

This is the book that never ends... 

Strong, Yet Lost 

A poem by Maryann (aka BrightMirage) 

(7.27.02 nearing midnight) 

... 

I have courage in my heart 

yet I am lost 

A bright soul, seeking chances 

to open doorways towards fresh new possibilities 

... 

I want to cradle tiny sea turtle hatchlings 

in my hands, filled with love 

and watch them make a run for the ocean 

... 

I have so much life in me... 

I want to make changes to stop 

the ravagings of our human race 

upon the sacred Earth and her creatures 

... 

I want to see the world, breathing in 

the exhilirating air of adventure in Australia, 

plunging into the waters of the Pacific, 

swimming with wild dolphins on their own terms 

... 

I want to walk in a hushed, sacred forest 

where my brothers, sisters, and cousins of the wild 

still roam free and unhindered by Man 

Where the cycle of life moves and flows perfectly 

... 

All I lack is the key... 

The key that will open up the doorways 

to these sacred, exhilarating, awe inspiring moments 

... 

For my sanity, for my soul, for my spirit to fly, 

I must believe that someone such as I, 

bursting with vitality and life 

will not be denied the chance 

to shine, to make a difference 

for the wild ones...for myself 

… 

411 

Secular Teaching 

Parody by Mike Scharding 

Original Lyrics by Marvin Gaye "Sexual Healing.” 

Music at 

http://www.geocities.com/midiruxpin/sexual_healing.mid 

More politically laden lyrics from Mike in D.C. 

Baby, School's hot just like an oven, 

Don't like my coven 

And baby, I can't stand it much longer 

Bigotry's stronger and stronger 

And when I hear that preaching I want secular teaching 

Secular teaching 

Teach nothing divine 

Just educate our minds. 

Secular teaching baby, is good for me 

Secular teaching is something that's good for me. 

Whenever school vouchers are rising 

And my public taxes' supporting religious scripts 

There is something I can do 

I can get on the telephone and call my school board 

Honey, you know I'll be there to support them 

’Cause they have to deal with all that venom 

If you don't know how to stop school preaching 

I can tell you darling that it’s secular teaching 

Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up 

Let's make cause today 

Get up, get up, get up, get up 

Don't let’em have their way 

Baby, I got news this morning 

A sea is storming all around us. 

Our wise policy's capsizing 

Under a wave of proselytizing. 

And when I hear that preaching 

I want secular teaching 

Secular teaching, is good for me 

Teach nothing divine, learn that at church 

Just educate our minds, and its good for us 

Secular teaching baby is good for me 

Secular teaching is something that’s good for me 

And it's good for me 

And it's good for me. 

My baby 

Ohhh

****** 

Bardic Salvo #9: Mar. 1st, 2003 

MY LADY 

A poem by Caroline Boston January 2003 

O Radiant Queen! My Lady in blue, 

Flowing white veil around your head. 

What was your name? Not one person knew. 

Whyfore a Moon on which you tread? 

Seven stars encircling in Night Sky, 

The Pentacle held within your hands. 

Thoughts that often made me cry, 

Of forgotten Time, and forgotten Lands. 

O how I searched for you, My Queen, 

I knew that I’d known you at the Start. 

I knew in my Past, your sweet face I’d seen, 

I knew that I knew you, deep down in my Heart. 

You have graced my life these past two years. 

You knew I would find your Name. 

You watched me face my deepest Fears, 

And you loved me just the same. 

And didst thou guide me, Beauteous One, 

When Ancestral Clan I sought? 

I found a cousin, I had not known, 

So the Journey was not for nought! 

I am content with who I am in this Life - 

Descendant of Samuel 1783, 

Of a Shoe Making clan of Worksop Town - 

‘Tis good enough for me! 

But take my hand, and again let us tread, 

On Lands where I have been. 

Let me remember all that was said, 

Arianrhod, my Heavenly Queen! 

Chalk Upon Her Hands 

By Caroline Boston January 2002 

A child so fair, with palest of skin 

Travails upon the Land 

Child of flowing, moonlit hair, 

With chalk upon her hands. 

Billowing shift of pure white cloth, 

Flutters in the breeze. 

Her name is softly whispered 

By the Spirits of the trees. 

Travails the child, beside her Clan, 

No wavering from the Course, 

White with chalk from the Land, 

She forms the Great White Horse. 

Stands she now on Berkshire Downs, 

Knowing that this sight, 

Will please her God and Goddess, 

And aid them in their flight. 

412 

Sister Druid 



Original Song was “Sister Christian,” 1980s by Ranger Night 

MIDI music can be heard at 

http://members.tripod.com/~ellisbell/Sisterch.mid 

[Introductory piano music] 

Sister Druid, oh the time has come 

And you know you’re the only one to say, OK 

Where you going, what you searching for? 

You know those guys don’t want to play by the rules. 

It’s true. 

You’re wavering 

How much till you fight? 

Defending all your rights, 

Let’s make a stand tonight. 

Friend, you know you’re growing up so wise 

And yet we’re worrying that you won’t realize, your fate is here. 

Sister Druid, there’s such crap in life 

Don’t you give up on it till the strife, is through. 

It’s true, it’s true yeah. 

You’re standing firm 

Now you’ve seen the light 

You’ve got goals in your sights 

And planning through the night 

[Refrain thrice] 

Sister Druid, oh the time has come 

And you know that you’re the only one to say, enough. 

But you’re protesting 

Yeah, standing firm. 

Vigiler’s Song 


Sep 2002, for the Public Domain 

Original “Memories” by Webber from the musical “Cats” 

Music at 

http://www.angelfire.com/me4/midis/Midifiles/Memories.mid 

Midnight – not a sound from the forest 

And the moon’s lost in the clouds. 

I am sitting alone. 

By the campfire, the withered leaves collect at my feet, 

And the wind begins to moan. 

Vigiling – all alone in the moonlight. 

I have read of the old days, 

It was more simple then. 

I remember the first time I knew what Reform was. 

Let those memories live again. 

Every religion seems to give only dire warnings 

Threats are muttered and the campfire sputters 

But soon it will be morning

Daylight, I must wait for the sunrise. 

I must think of a new life, 

And I mustn’t give in. 

When the dawn comes, I will work for Dalon ap Landu 

And a new job will begun. 

Burnt out ends of smokey logs 

The strange cold smell of morning. 

The campfire dies, another night is over, 

Another day is dawning. 

Touch Her, it’s so easy to ignore her. 

All alone with the Earth-Mother 

All my days in the sun. 

If you touch Her, you’ll understand what Druidism is. 

Look, a new day has begun. 

Liturgy 

By Mike, Digitalis Grove, RDNA 


Original “Memories” by Webber from the musical “Cats” 

Music at www.angelfire.com/me4/midis/Midifiles/Memories.mid 

Mid-day, not a gust from the four winds 

Has the rite lost its potency? 

I try to improvise 

On the altar, the scribbled pages burn in a flash, 

And the winds begin to moan. 

Liturgies, fixed praises in the sunlight 

We can relive the old days 

It was radical then 

I remember the way we ran free in the woods 

Let those actions live again. 

Every season seems to bring clichéd repetition 

Something muttered and the green leaves flutters, 

And soon it is tradition. 

Dogma, unexamined old beliefs 

Can choke out a group’s life force, 

So we mustn’t give in. 

When the rite ends, this rite must be a memory too. 

And a new view will begin 

Burnt out thoughts and 

The stale cold smell of structure 

The muse’s lamp dies, another creed is started 

Reach out, it’s so easy to mouth words, 

All the priests know that this is true 

During days in your grove 

If you feel them, you’ll understand what devotion is, 

And for new days, choose new words. 

413 

****** 

Bardic Salvo #10: Mar. 15th, 2003 


By Eric Powers, Digitalis Community 

For the Public Domain, August 2002 

Based on Aretha Franklin’s “R-E-S-P-E-C-T” 

http://rock.mididb.com/20021108/Franklin_Aretha/Respect.mid 

(ooh) What you want 

(ooh) Baby, I got 

(ooh) What you need 

(ooh) Don’t you know I got it? 

(ooh) All I'm askin' 

(ooh) Is for a little respect when you live here (just a little bit) 

Hey baby (just a little bit) when you live here 

(just a little bit) mister (just a little bit) 

I ain't gonna do you wrong if you’re good 

Ain't gonna do you wrong (ooh) 'cause I don't wanna (ooh) 

All I'm askin' (ooh) 

Is for a little respect when you live here (just a little bit) 

Baby (just a little bit) when you live here (just a little bit) 

Yeah (just a little bit) 

I'm about to share with you all my seas and lands 

And all I'm askin' in return, understand, 

Is to follow my tenets 

When you live here (just a, just a, just a, just a) 

Yeah baby (just a, just a, just a, just a) 

When you live here (just a little bit) 

Yeah (just a little bit) 

Ooo, your fortunes (ooh) 

may be heaven blest (ooh) 

And guess what? (ooh) 

So is my harvest (ooh) 

Ooo, your achievements (ooh) 

They’re amazing (ooh) 

And guess what? (ooh) 

My temperature’s raising (ooh) 

All I want you to do (ooh) for me 

Is change your ways when you live here (re, re, re ,re) 

Yeah baby (re, re, re ,re) 

Give it to me (reform, just a little bit) 

When you live here, now (just a little bit) 


Change your ways to live with me 


Fix’ em, A.S.A.P. 

Oh (sock it to me, sock it to me, 

sock it to me, sock it to me) 

A little reform (sock it to me, sock it to me, 

sock it to me, sock it to me) 

Whoa, babe (just a little bit) 

A little respect (just a little bit) 

I get tired (just a little bit) 

Keep on tryin' (just a little bit) 

You're way overpollutin' (just a little bit) 

And I ain't lyin' (just a little bit) 

(re, re, re, re) ‘formed 

When you live here (re, re, re ,re) 

Or you might wake up (reform, just a little bit)

And find out I'm mad (just a little bit) 

I got to have (just a little bit) 

A little reform (just a little bit) 

BIBLE BELT BLUES 

By Various Authors at RDNAtalk 

Oct, 2002. 

Pick any bluesy rhythm. 

By Tegwedd 

1st Verse 

I live in a Bible belt town 

Here even JW's & Unis get put brutally down 

I just wanna talk about Druidy stuff 

Hope you guys think I'm Pagan enough 

First Chorus 

Oh, it's the Bible Belt blues 

It's the Bible Belt blues 

Makes me feel so alone, 

Can't even talk Druid on the telephone 

2nd Verse 

Those folks just go Bible thumpin' along 

If you listen you can hear their Jesus song 

I just wanna hear the wind through the trees 

Somebody help me, talk Druidry please! 

First Chorus 

Oh, it's the Bible Belt blues 

It's the Bible Belt blues 

Makes me feel so alone, 

Can't even talk Druid on the telephone 

By johnness44@hotmail.com 

3rd Verse 

From tent meeting to watering hole 

They’re all worried about my soul 

You know it's for the best they say 

Think I'll move to Califon-I-A 

2nd Chorus 

Got the bible belt blues 

Way down south 


Been told to shut my mouth 

By she_of_the_storm@yahoo.com 

4th Verse 

Wanted to walk me down the aisle 

Wanted to show that I'm God's child 

Didn't think about what's on my mind 

Didn't see that I'm the Nature kind 

2nd Chorus 





5th Verse 

I just wanna hear the wind through the trees 

I just wanna feel an evening breeze 

Isn't there someone who can help me out? 

Any Druid stuff that we can talk about? 

414 

2nd Chorus 





By Gandalf 

6th Verse 

I was raised by Southern Baptists 

They wanted me to be a preacher 

I couldn't accept their faith tests 

The Goddess, I had to meet her 

2nd Chorus 





By Tegwedd 

7th Verse 

Outlander remembers says I understand 

I bet he had his trouble with the good ole preacher man 

Preacher man says do as the Bible done told 

I just want to enjoy nature as I grow old 

3rd Chorus 

Yeah, I'm stuck in the Bible Belt way down south 

Where all the women got to shut their mouths 

But on this list I got my say, 

It's good to live the Druid way 

8th Verse 

I was raised by the Baptists 

Got myself wrapped in 

a born again cocoon 

What the hell happened? 

9th Verse 

All I wanted was to 

Play in the forest 

Romp through the meadows 

Listen to the breeze 

Talkin' to the trees 

3rd Chorus 




It's good to live the Druid way 

By brightmirage ;) 

10th Verse 

Autumn leaves are falling down, 

Wondrous rustles as my feet touch the ground. 

Nature kisses my very soul, 

Why can't these Bible thumpers FEEL what I KNOW 

3rd Chorus 




It's good to live the Druid way

****** 

Bardic Salvo #11: April 1st, 2003 

Something to Look Forward to 

By Chris Middleton, Carleton, c.1999 

I was eating a rather bland breakfast 

When suddenly 

I died 

Moments later my spirit was wheeling from the experience 

My vision blurred as the room about me spun into a crazed mix of 

colors 

A blender full of the rich hues of every fruit 

Every berry. 

Soon all reality and the bowl of oatmeal below me dipped and 

sank into the thick syrupy afterlife 

My spirit was now sticky with the great beyond- 

Tastes like blueberries- 

Then a darkness, more liquid than coffee, washed over me as I 

ascended to the light 

Could this be death I wondered as I drew my hands through a 

stream of caffeinated Hereafter 

I thought of all the orange slices, the Mandarin, Naval, and 

Tangerine 

I recalled the Grapefruit and Melons 

Those distinct memories of Kiwis, Sandpears and Mangos 

All those times I had feasted 

Those times when I had refused to take a single citrus section 

It was there that I came to a Toast Point 

I landed gracefully near a sea of tranquil raspberry jam 

Along the toasted beach, the waves kicked up a froth of pancakes 

People wandered in bedclothes holding hands and holding 

newspapers 

I knew I had reached the land where breakfast never ended 

And sighed deeply, turning to English muffin thoughts, and 

knowing that I’d never have to go to early morning Spanish 

again. 


By Chris Middleton, Carleton c.1999 

Three men are seated at a table in Purgatory 

They are silent 

Around them are thousands of silent, caged, parrots 

Just as in heaven, just as in hell 

In heaven the parrots learn words and continue the conversations 

When the people are silent 

In hell the parrots learn words and 

Interrupt whoever speaks 

In Purgatory the parrots learn words, 

But are always silent 

The three men in Purgatory 

Do not know this 

415 

Gods Bless America 

By Mairi Ceolmhor, DC Grove, RDNA 

October 2001, for the Public Domain 

Original “God Bless America” by Irving Berlin 1918, & 1938 

Patriotic Music can be heard at 

www.geocities.com/god_bless_america_lyrics/godbless.mid 

Drum Roll Spoken Introduction: 

”While the Ozone fades thin all across the globe 

Let us swear a strong oath as we don our robes. 

Let us all be grateful for the lands so fair 

And pour forth our efforts in a solemn prayer.” 

Gods Bless America, 

Both North and South, 

Africa, Asia 

Europe, Australia 

And all that lies in between 

From the mountains, 

To the prairies 

To the oceans, 

And deep loam. 

Gods Bless our Ecosphere, our tight-linked home. 

[Repeat song] 


By Mike, Digitalis Grove, RDNA 


Original “God Bless America” by Irving Berlin 1918, & 1938 

Patriotic Music can be heard at 

www.geocities.com/god_bless_america_lyrics/godbless.mid 

Drumbeat accompanied Spoken Introduction 

”While the Far Right gathers to push through their plans 

Let us all remember the promise of this land 

Let us all be grateful for private liberty 

And stop official religiousity.” 


The state is not your church 

You may guide her, 

Not override her 

Constitutional liberties! 

Heed the crusades 

And the abuses 

And civil wars 

That soon flower. 

God out of politics, keep them apart. 

[Repeat song]

* * * * * * 

Bardic Salvo #12: April 15th, 2003 

Have Yourself a Bonny Blithe Beltane 

By Mike Scharding, Digitalis Grove, RDNA 

August, 2002, for the Public Domain 

Music and original lyrics at 

www.geocities.com/ohtoad/xmas/HaveMerryXmas.html 

“Have yourself a bonny blithe Beltane 

Let the fires burn real bright 

Go collect some flowers 

In the morning light. 

Have yourself a bonny blithe Beltane 

Bake the sun-burst bread 

When you drink whiskey 

It’ll go to your head 

Here we are as in olden days 

Happy golden days of yore, 

Faithful friends who are dear to us 

Gather near to us once more. 

Through the years 

We all will be together 

If the Fates allow, 

Swing a ribbon fair 

From the highest pole 

And have yourself 

A Bonny blithe Beltane, now. 

I Can’t Get No Ordination 


November, 2002, for the Public Domain 

Lyrics: I Can't Get No) Satisfaction (Jagger/Richards) 

Music at : 

http://www.sharonkay.com/midi/icantgetnosatisfaction.midi 

I can’t get no ordination, I can’t get no ordination 

But I try and I try and I try and I try 

I can’t get no, I can’t get no 

When I’m walking in the woods with the ArchDruid of the Grove 

He’s tellin’ me more and more about some useless information 

Supposed to fire my imagination. 

I can't get no. Oh, no, no, no. Hey, hey, hey 

That's what I say 

I can't get no ordination, I can't get no ordination 

'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try 

I can't get no, I can't get no 

When I took their study course and new research made it worse 

Sayin’ how the druids should be 

But I can’t join that grove, ‘cause it doesn’t hold 

The same true dogma as me. 

416 


That's what I say 

I can't get no ordination, I can't get no ordination 

'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try 

I can't get no, I can't get no 

Now I’ve surfed sites ‘round the world, and I’m doin’ this and 

I’m payin’ that 

And I’m tryin’ to join some group, who tells me 

Brother, better come back maybe next life 

Cause we don’t do that with our knife. 


That's what I say. I can't get no, I can't get no 

I can't get no ordination, no ordination 

No ordination, no ordination 

* * * * * 

Bardic Salvo #13: May 1st, 2003 

Dalon Ap Landu 

By Mike, Digitalis Grove 

Feb 2003, for the Public Domain 

Original was the “Scooby Doo” Theme. 

Music at www.geocities.com/EnchantedForest/3607/scoobyd.mid 

Dalon ap Landu, who are you? 

We gaze up at your green boughs. 

Dalon ap Landu, what are you? 

We need to hear from you now. 

Come on Lord of Groves, you see our sacrifice is green and 

perfect 

If you don’t answer me, come from your tree, we’ll just have to 

pause and reflect. 

You know we’ve got a ritual to do, so Lord of Groves please help 

us stay on track! 

Don’t hold back! 

And Lord of Groves if you come through you’re going to have 

yourself a whiskey dram! 

Not a scam! 

Dalon ap Landu, here are you. 

We’re ready. Are you willing? 

If we can count on you, Dal’n ‘p Landu, I know it’ll be fulfilling. 

By Victoria Dunseith 

The Hidden Heart 

Upon the land of Eire, green 

there is a pretty lass. 

Her lovely hair is bright and fair, 

her love it did not last. 

She brings her love to those that care, 

and she to the land casts life. 

Her love was not noble or kind, 

he left her with a bit of strife. 

Her pain was great and so was shared, 

the lass’s shredded heart. 

Wound ripped open for all that cared, 

healing was long to start.

She sat at the edge of a pond, 

weeping for what was lost. 

She missed the one that she was fond, 

her friend she had almost tossed. 

Unknown, another’s heart did love. 

The warrior walked by. 

He noticed her shuddering head, 

and ached to see her cry. 

So much noise come from the lass that 

she did not hear him there. 

He stood by her side for a while, 

so lost she was she did not care. 

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked her. 

“I give but not receive.” 

“You would see with eyes open all 

the love that will always achieve.” 

What you seek is in front of you. 

Shared, it will always be, 

my heart ready for you to clasp, 

waiting for you to see. 

For him she looked inside and saw 

what she’d had all the time. 

His love it would last forever. 

Her happiness would climb. 

She once more brought love to the land. 

Magic would soon appear, 

with very small waves of her hand, 

for love she no longer fear. 

By Oriana Lewallen 

The Fire of Her Soul 

Groping through the misted, clouded blackness 

in the dark I find her 

I clutch to her skirts 

wrapping them fully around 

until they envelop me 

in her safety and warmth. 

I am empowered by her closeness. 

The gentle radiating heat, 

from the fire of her soul 

sparks my own. 

Beginning my quest within 

for understanding and knowledge 

while I am comforted in her presence. 

I turn inward, learning 

from the inside out 

that which will help me endure 

all my life, all the year through. 

And in the spring I will emerge... 

new, fresh and naive as the crocus. 

417 

Queen of the Night 

By Jeannette Randall 

This is my entry for whatever it's being entered into at this 

moment. :) It's a poem, I wrote it in.. er.. 1998 or 1999, don't 

rightly recall which, and it is, in fact, all original to me. 

Wondrous beauty, blazing bright 

In the shadows of the night 

Shine down on me here 

Shine true, bright and clear 

Whisper softly your words so dear 

The truth of your wisdom I must hear 

Whisper softly, my words of light, 

Unto you, queen of the night. 

Spiral Dancers 

By Vanessa Sanders 

My first attempt here, it’s sort of a Druid anthem, I guess. 

Original tune 'Tiny Dancer' Elton John 

Music at http://members.aol.com/timvp3/tinydanc.mid 

Always dreamers 

Oracle readers 

Worshipping the land- 

Reading the runes, 

To Bardic tunes, 

Writing Ogham in the sand. 

Druid dreamers - 

You must have seen us 

Bearing sigils on our vans. 

Jesus Freaks out in the streets 

Handing tickets out for God. 

Taken aback we just grip our staff, 

They've never heard of Arianhrod. 

Calling the Green Man with all we can 

Oak leaves we will burn, 

We carry on with magickal songs 

As the days grow short and nights grow long. 

But oh, how we walk the wheel 

From day to day and year to year 

I wilderness where they can't hear 

The chant so softly---slowly 

Chorus: 

Invoke the Gods, oh Spiral Dancers 

In the groves of Oak and Ivy, 

Laugh and dance with wild abandon 

The Solstice is today.

It's Ostara's Whole 

Parodied by John Odencrantz 

Original: “Heart and Soul” by Huey Lewis and the News 

Twelve o'clock this morning 

A springtime wind came roaring 

And in a dream blew winter on its way. 

This season when birds are nesting 

Ostara bestows her blessing 

And autumn seeds are sprouting in the clay. 

You see, she plants what she wants. 

(REFRAIN) 

It's Ostara's whole 

It's hot and cold 

It's got it all her darkness and her light 

Can't you see her standing there? 

See how she looks, see how she cares 

Who wakens life and turns night into day. 

Six o'clock this morning 

New seedtime came a dawning 

A red egg glowing in the morning rays 

And so you plant what you want. 

(REFRAIN) 

It's Ostara's whole 

It's hot and cold 

It's got it all her darkness and her light 

418 

Beltane Spell 

Parodied by John Odencrantz 

Original was Rebel Yell by Billy Idol 

Music available at http://idol.execnet.com/ 

[Music] 

Last night a little dancer came dancing through the fire. 

Last night the logs were burning and the hares jumping higher. 

The fairy queen said "Baby I got a license for love 

But if it expires pray help from above!" 

In the midnight hour life cries "More! More! More!" 

In a Beltane spell life wants More more more 

In the midday hour, Bel- More more more 

In a Beltane spell- More more more 

more more more 

Throw off those winter's shackles, life won't sit and beg. 

The hobby-horse is whirling and the Queen her Jack's wed. 

Some tumble in the umbels, some are laughing in the trees. 

Spring's set you free. I need you here by me. 

Because 





more more more 

Bel sits in his own heaven 

Discussing the meaning of fate with Bran's raven: 

A ribbon, a tangled-up maypole-like affair. 

But Betty's ways are Betty's. Fate won't mess Betty's hair. 

[music] 

I searched the world for you, babe, 

Nine lonely months for you, 

Ten thousand miles for you, babe, 

A hundred blizzards, too. 

I'd visit Dis for your sake 

For summer to spend with you, 

Caer Sidi-zen for your sake 

Justa, justa, justa, justa have you here by me 

Because 





More more more 

We're living. This is Beltane. 

We want more 

More, more, more 

More, more, more, more, more 

We're living. This is Beltane. 

We want more 

More, more, more 

More, more, more, more, more

Volume Eight 2003 

The Soul of Juliana Spring 


As most of you know Irony Sade was one of the Archdruids at 

Carleton from the Spring of 1996 to Spring of 1999 and is 

talented in many areas. He is the author of Sociology of the 

Reformed Druids (Pt. 7 of ARDA,) he is the Patriarch of the 

Order of the Volcano (Pt. 3 of ARDA,) the History of the 

Legitimacy (Pt 9 of ARDA,) several epistles (Pt. 2 of ARDA) and 

a talented poet and harper in his own right. Irony spent two years 

from the summer of 1999 to Summer 2001 in the Peace Corps on 

a small island in the Kingdom of Tonga out in the Pacific Ocean, 

where he founded the Volcano Grove. This story was written 

mid-way through that tour of duty and reflects much on his 

character, experiences, and views of Reformed Druidism. There 

is also a chance that this may be produced into a independent film 

in the new future. He welcomes any assistance you might be able 

to provide into getting published. 

Sincerely, 


Embassy of Japan, D.C. 

April 22nd, 2003 


1st Printing A Druid Missalany (Beltane-Samhain 2003) 

2nd Printing ARDA 2, 2003 

419 

The Soul of Juliana Spring 

By Irony Sade 

© November 2000 

Chapter One 

It was the eve of Beltain when I first heard of Juliana Spring. 

The Maypole was being danced for the sixth or seventh time 

while the tall piper and the boy on the fiddle churned out 

complementary versions of Kati Barri’s Wedding. A crowd of 

brightly colored folks was clustered around the long table bearing 

our potluck feast and there were flowers everywhere, for it was 

the festival of spring. 

I noticed the young man when he arrived, standing 

uncertainly on the edge of the clearing, too curious to pass by, too 

hesitant to join in the revels. He was short, sandy haired, and 

serious looking. I marked him as an undergraduate from the 

university nearby. A voluptuous lady with violets in her hair 

called to him to join us and eat. He came, smiling suddenly, and 

they were soon conversing freely. I smiled too, at the pleasure of 

a new face- then I forgot him, for it was time to crown the King 

and Queen of the May. 

The lad stayed on, late into the fire lit night, and sipped the 

honeyed wine as it was passed from hand to hand. People sang 

and told stories as the stars yawned back to life, and I watched the 

couples snuggle together for warmth, wondering idly how many 

would carry the festivities on into the privacy of the forest or 

bedroom. When my turn to speak came I rolled out the old yarn 

of the boy from Cork who fell in love with a harp he could not 

play. The longing tormented him so much that his mother offered 

her soul to the Druid if he would give her son the gift of music. 

The sandy haired lad watched me closely as I spoke, pitching my 

voice low to the slow crackle of the beech logs. It was an old and 

beautifully chilling tale that I told, not one entirely appropriate for 

Beltain. It may have snapped him out of the festive mood. He 

seemed distracted from then on, and kept peering at me through 

the flames as the night progressed. Eventually he rose for a mug 

of mead, and, upon returning, sat down to my left in the spot just 

vacated by a delightfully tipsy nymph. 

Silence stretched between us with the expectant air of 

impending conversation. At last he turned to me, head to one side. 

“Are you really a druid?” His voice was soft and low. 

The focus of the group had shifted to the far side of the 

circle. I considered the flames and reviewed the dozen-odd 

debates for a pair of slow breaths. There were too many ways to 

respond to that question, but it had been a day of laughter, and I 

was in no mood for an argument. 

“Yes,” I replied. 

The answer seemed to satisfy him. He too stared into the 

coals, rolling a warmed mug between his hands. Eyes always 

gravitate towards fire at night. I have always wondered why. 

“This is silly,” he remarked at length, still regarding the 

flames. “I am supposed to be a medical student. I don’t even 

know why I showed up tonight.” 

The lad hesitated, uncertain, and I took a sip of my own 

mead. Suddenly he was facing me. 

“Can you really sell your soul?” 

I glanced at him, startled. 

“What I mean,” he stammered, “is if someone wanted 

something they couldn’t have so badly that they were willing to 

sell their soul to get it, could you give it to them?” 

I continued peering. His shoulders squirmed.

“Like that story you just told,” he trailed off. His eyes were 

still on me, embarrassed, but determined. 

“Are you serious?” 

He nodded, sucking his lip. 

I stared away into the stars between the swaying leaves. 

Laughter from the lingerers drifted through the night. 

“If someone you know, or you yourself, wanted something 

badly enough to sell their soul for it, then I would certainly be 

willing to talk to that person.” 

“It isn’t me,” he said quickly. “It’s my girlfriend. She… 

She would probably rather tell you herself.” 

“Do you want me to talk to her?” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“When?” 

“As soon as possible.” 

I considered this. 

“Could she meet me at the Bubble and Squeak for lunch on 

Tuesday?” 

“I’ll tell her,” said he, breathing heavily. “I can’t believe 

I’m doing this. My name is Sam, by the way.” He grinned. “I 

guess everyone knows who you are.” 

I forced a dry chuckle. 

“Pleased to meet you Sam. You should smile more often- 

you look old when you are serious.” 

Sam laughed and turned back to his wine. The cluster 

across the flames thundered their giggling way into a final chorus 

of The Rattlin’ Bog, and I stared off into the stars above the 

treetops. They winked back, which was all they ever did, leaving 

me to guess at the meaning. 

Chapter Two 

The Bubble and Squeak was a friendly little café not far 

from the university. It had been established by a widowed British 

matron who had cheerfully wedged her way in between the 

clothing stores and simply out baked the competition. She 

employed a small clan of students and mothers, kept university 

hours, and was willing to cook anything one cared to name. They 

really did serve bubble and squeak, if you could order it with a 

straight face. 

Juliana Spring found me at my table by the wall. She 

greeted me by name and I stood, surprised to find her so tall. 

“Miss Spring, hello.” 

“Sam told me all about you,” she began as we sat, and I 

grinned, imagining that conversation. 

“Are you hungry?” 

Her pale face shook slightly. 

“Not really.” 

Long fingers fidgeted with something at her neck as we sat, 

her eyes staring, jumping away when she saw me see them. I 

watched her hands and realized they held a crucifix. 

I leaned forward, speaking gently. “I do not bite.” 

Juliana started and blushed faintly. 

“It’s not that. I just don’t know how to begin a conversation 

like this. I feel like Faust!” 

“Faust sold his soul to the Devil,” I smiled. “I am just an 

ordinary man.” 

“Then how can you buy mine?” 

I looked away to the budding maples outside. 

“What did Sam tell you?” 

420 

“That you were a druid, that people seemed to trust you. He 

told me about the story you shared on Saturday and said he 

thought you might be for real.” She was looking straight at me 

now, a question perched upon her eyebrows. 

“Have you slept since he told you?” 

Her dark hair rippled as she shook the head beneath it. 

“Then you should definitely have some food in you.” 

We ordered and she told me about herself. She was twenty, 

a sophomore at the university, and had loved dancing as a child. 

Her father delivered sermons at the Revivalists Center a few 

hours south and wanted her to become either a teacher or a nurse. 

She relaxed as we ate, and a bit of color emerged in her heart 

shaped face. 

“And what is it you want?” I asked when only her coffee 

was left. 

Juliana’s body straightened and she looked me in the eye. 

“I want to play the harp.” 

I blinked. 

“Do you have one?” 

“My grandmother gave me one when I left for college,” she 

nodded. “Dad wasn’t going to let me keep it, but I told him I was 

dating a medical student and taking English classes.” Her eyes 

dropped. “He doesn’t know we’re living together.” 

“Have you got a teacher?” 

“No. People have shown me different things, and I have all 

sorts of books, but to hire a teacher you need money. My father 

will only help pay for what he sees on the tuition forms, and I’m 

working half time already to cover the rest. I practice all the time 

though…” 

“How much?” 

“Whenever I can. I have to pass my classes, or Dad will 

have me home, and I have to work to pay for them, but I still play 

a bit every day.” 

“Then what do you need me for?” 

“Because, you see. I don’t just want to play. I… I want to 

be the best in the world.” 

On the walk out front students passed in threes and twos, 

giggling or serious, free and careless. Discoursing passionately 

on things they would forget completely a few months hence. 

They had all their options open, these people outside; there was 

not an irrevocable commitment amongst them. None of them 

were ready to sell their souls. 

“Why?” I asked Juliana quietly. 

“It’s what I’ve always wanted.” 

“Since when? You are twenty.” 

“My whole adult life- since I was ten years old.” 

“Why?” I repeated softly. Her eyes were hazel and very 

clear. 

“When I was ten I heard a record of harp music at 

somebody’s birthday party, maybe in the adults room, I don’t 

know. I don’t even know what piece was playing, only that it was 

the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. That night I started 

dreaming music. It was so lovely, and I knew it was harps. I 

thought I was listening in on Heaven. In the morning I could still 

remember some of it, but there is no way to describe music like 

that, and nothing I could do to reproduce it. I told my Dad, and 

he said it was a vision sent from God to urge me on to a good life. 

I told him I wanted to play like the angels I’d heard. He said that 

that was foolish arrogance and that I could be damned for even 

thinking such a thing. 

“I tried to stop wanting it, to do what he told me, but the 

dreams just kept coming. Sometimes it’s as if I don’t even sleep, 

but just lie awake listening all night long. In church sometimes I

would forget to pay attention and just sit remembering the music, 

smiling. I told my father once when he asked what was so funny. 

He got so mad he hit me. He doesn’t understand.” 

“Do you still dream like that?” 

“All the time. It’s what keeps me sane, even if it is 

maddening. I used to think that all I needed was a harp and that 

then I could play like that. Then I got one at last and realized it 

was harder than I’d imagined. After six months I realized it 

would take my whole life to play the way I wanted to, even if I 

did nothing but practice. After a year and a half I figured even 

that wouldn’t be long enough. I finally decided it was impossible, 

and that God was just torturing me with the dreams. I nearly 

killed myself, it hurt so much. Sam is the only reason I didn’t. 

Then we heard about you, and I thought… I’m almost afraid to 

hope.” 

“Where was your mother in all this,” I asked when she fell 

silent. 

“She left.” Her face was masked. “When I was ten.” 

I digested that without expression. 

“What made you think of selling your soul?” 

“I thought of it a long time ago, actually, but I didn’t really 

believe it was possible. I also had no idea how to do it. It’s not 

exactly the sort of thing you advertise for.” 

My head was swimming. I glanced down at the tea in my 

hands. It was cold. 

“Even if you did, there would be no quick fix. You would 

still have to practice, live in the world, pay bills, deal with your 

father.” 

Juliana tossed her head impatiently. 

“I know… But I want this.” 

“It’s your soul, girl! Can’t you think of anything less 

drastic?” 

“I came to you for help, sir. Are you going to help me, or 

are you going to try and talk me out of it?” 

There was steel in those hazel eyes. I saw suddenly why it 

was Sam loved her. 

“I just want you to know what you are getting into. 

Otherwise there can be no bargain.” 

“I know what I am getting into.” 

“Are you certain?” 

She glared back defiantly. 

I swirled my cold tea. 

“You, Juliana Spring, want to sell your soul to me in 

exchange for the chance to play the music you hear in your 

dreams, here on earth, alive, and to be the best harpist in the 

world?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you willing to do whatever I deem necessary to make 

that happen, however difficult or painful it happens to be, to live 

your life by my word so far as regards the playing of the harp?” 

“I am.” 

“And do you undertake this obligation freely, without 

mental reservations, and in full knowledge of the consequences?” 

She bit her lip. 

“I do.” 

“Then give me your hands and open your mind to me. 

Close your eyes when you are ready.” 

I leaned forward and took her long white hands in mine. I 

wondered suddenly if anyone was listening. 

Her eyes closed, and I spoke a very few, swift, syllabant 

words. 

Her hands clenched in mine. Her eyes flickered open. 

421 

Juliana Spring shuddered. 

“Is that it?” She gasped. 

“That is it.” 

Juliana shifted her eyes cautiously about the café, her gaze 

darting to the diners, the window, the sky, the trees outside, and 

me. There was a peculiar intensity to her study, as though she had 

never seen a world like this before. She flexed her long boned 

fingers, fascinated by their supple movement. 

“What happens now?” She asked me. 

“Go back to Sam and get some sleep. Tomorrow morning 

at ten meet me in the park behind campus, on the bench beneath 

the bur oaks. Bring your harp.” 

She nodded. 

“What about… What about my soul?” 

“Do not worry about it,” I smiled gently. “That is my 

concern now.” 

I stood, smiling down at her trembling eyes. There was a 

light in them that I had not observed before. I wondered what she 

was thinking. 

“Lunch is on me,” I said. 

Chapter Three 

And so it began. We met beneath the oaks the next day on a 

hillside overlooking fields and meadows creeping slowly back to 

wild. A brook danced its nearly inaudible way along the foot of 

the hill. Too far away to really be a presence the red brick 

buildings of the university dorms glowed in the morning light. 

Juliana wore long tan pants that made her look even taller, and a 

dark light sweater against the chill of the wind. She looked 

willow thin against the trees, and strode along with the cased harp 

as if it weighed nothing. She sat down on the end of the bench. I 

folded my coat across my knees. For a long time there was 

silence. 

“I love this place,” she remarked at length. “Sam and I used 

to come out here on walks before things got so busy.” 

“What does Sam have to say about all this?” 

“I told him everything. He said that he couldn’t quite 

believe it had happened, but that he thought it was very brave of 

me. He also said it was me that he loved, soulless or not, and that 

he’d stay with me through everything.” 

Far away I watched the movement of students to and from 

the dorms, smaller than ants and twice as aimless. 

“He is a remarkable man if he means that. I hope he 

follows through.” 

“What do we do now?” 

“I do not know yet. Play for me.” 

The harp case looked homemade. Juliana unzipped it and 

set the leather carefully aside. The harp stood shoulder high as 

we sat before it, darkly gleaming chestnut, unadorned. She 

screwed in its legs and settled the instrument back into her arms. 

“What should I play?” She asked, brushing the strings. It 

was already tuned. 

“Anything you wish.” 

She brushed the chords again and bent her long dark hair. 

So softly it seemed that she was still warming up, Juliana began to 

play. 

In the middle air before us a cloud of insects danced beside 

a small yew tree. From its branches darted forth a small brown 

bird, flickering and flitting into the swarm, matching its mindless, 

eye-defying movements with its own. It tumbled about immune 

to gravity with no discernible wing beats, but a twisting, fluttering,

graceful confusion of feathers and open beak. Then it was back in 

the branches, panting, as the swarm danced on, unconsciously 

reduced. After three long breaths it darted forth again. 

She was good. Better than I had been after six years 

practice, but then, I had never had her passion. There was a 

freedom and a flow to her movements already beyond anything I 

could muster. She would never be my student, I decided. 

At the end of the second piece the harpist’s hands floated 

away from the strings. A breeze stirred her hair and caught the 

last of the chords, stretching them out into an inhuman blaze of 

harmony that drifted softly down the wind. Far below us water 

shimmered. 

The lady turned to me with her heart shaped face. I 

searched for, found my voice. 

“How much did you say you practiced?” 

“Maybe two hours a night.” 

“What about your classes?” 

“I have one right now, actually.” She gazed over at the 

dorms. “It doesn’t seem that important anymore.” 

“Then why do you take them?” 

“Force of habit. It keeps my father happy, and I’ll need 

some sort of skills if I can’t make it as a musician.” 

I turned my face towards her. 

“Oh.” 

She realized it now, I saw. There was no more ’if’ in this 

adventure. We were playing all or nothing. 

“Do you want to be in school?” I asked. 

“I like the atmosphere, the people, but no, not really.” 

The bird was back in the air again. 

“If you dropped your classes, kept your job, and stayed with 

Sam, would you have enough money to pay a teacher?” 

She considered, strangely calm as the possibilities assailed 

her. 

“I might.” 

“Good. I will try to find you one. Where do you work, by 

the way?” 

“Down at the Symposium. I’m a waitress there.” 

“I shall have to visit sometime. Have you got a telephone?” 

She told me the number and I committed it to memory. 

“Here is mine if you need anything. I will call within the 

week.” 

“What should I tell my father?” 

“That is up to you.” I replied, smiling. “And make that six 

hours a night.” 

I turned to go. She stopped me with my name. 

“What’s the other half of our bargain? You never said… 

What will happen afterwards?” 

I waited, still as the rough skinned oaks. The wind brought 

a sheen to Juliana’s eyes that almost looked like tears. Her lips 

began to form a question I had no way to answer. I spoke to cut 

her off. 

“Do not think about it. If you let it worry you the concern 

will keep you from concentrating completely on the harp. 

Without that commitment you will never become the best, and the 

whole deal will be pointless. I am not the Devil, Juliana. You 

have nothing to fear.” 

Her eyes were not wholly convinced, but I had said too 

much already. I left her sitting with the harp and fled to the 

shadow of the silent trees. 

422 

Chapter Four 

That afternoon I made some calls. I was looking for the 

best teacher in an hour’s radius. Not the best player- for any 

musician could get jealous of what Juliana Spring was going to 

become. We needed someone who could teach her all the things I 

could not, and who would be able to let her go when she moved 

beyond their skill. It took me longer than I had thought, but at 

last I found a woman who would serve, and made a reservation at 

the Symposium. 

The restaurant where Juliana worked was very much a 

creation of the town it served. Its clientele were students and 

faculty, townies out for a night’s splurge, and the occasional 

interloper like myself. The Mediterranean food it prepared was 

better than most, and the staff was no slower than many. Juliana 

was a bit too striking to make the perfect waitress, too ethereal to 

draw the biggest tips. She saw me when I entered and pounced 

upon my table to claim it as her own. 

I gave her the number of the instructor I had found. She 

very nearly jumped with glee. 

“It’s going to work,” she bubbled over my order. “I talked 

to all my professors, and they say it’s all right. Some of them 

think I’m nuts, of course. Sam says we are still on, too, so I’m 

living there, and the manager here let me up my hours to thirty, so 

I can probably even save a little!” She grinned proudly. “And 

I’m playing seven hours a day!” 

“Bring my food!” I laughed. “People will think I am 

flirting with you!” 

************ 

Chapter Five 

Spring erupted into summer that year, as it always seems to 

manage. Beasts that had been wild and rutting a few months 

before settled down to raising families. The equinox came and 

went with its festivals of balance, and the stars slid slowly 

backwards through the heavens. The Hunter began to appear in 

the mornings again, his jeweled belt and longbow burning down 

the year. Leaves glowed, and in simpler climes people worked to 

gather in the harvest. 

Juliana and I kept in touch throughout the changes. I also 

met quietly with her teacher now and again. Sam passed at the 

head of his class and began courting medical schools. Juliana lost 

her job, but found another closer to the city. Together they 

bought an old, tired station wagon and found a way to make both 

their schedules work. Juliana’s teacher discovered her student 

had been fingering wrong all along, and showed her a new way of 

sitting that took the strain off her spine. Juliana said she was 

happier than she had ever been. 

Three nights before Samhain someone tried to pound my 

door in. I came out from the kitchen and pulled it open. The 

woman the storm blew into my hall was a wreck, her face and 

hair plastered with tears and rain. She was nearly hysterical, 

tumbled words escaping in great gasps and stutters. 

“I got back from work- and Sam was there- and the door 

was down- and he said he just came in- and started screaming- 

and threw Sam around- and was looking for me- and started 

throwing things- and- and—” 

I barred the door and pulled her into the kitchen, still 

shaking. Juliana went into the softest chair and the tissue box 

went into her lap. The kettle was still smoldering quietly to itself. 

I grabbed it and a box from the high shelf.

“Tea.” I told her. “Drink.” 

She grasped clumsily at the deep mug, her lungs still 

sobbing. I waited until she managed to take a full sip without 

slurping. 

“Who?” I asked her. 

She stared at me blankly. 

“Who threw Sam around?” 

“My father… He found out I wasn’t taking classes and 

discovered where we were living somehow. He tore the door 

down looking for me. When Sam told him I wasn’t there he just 

went wild. He smashed everything he could find and kept roaring 

about me being a disobedient slut until our neighbors called the 

police. They were still there when I came home, and the landlord 

as well, but my father left before they could catch him.” She 

paused for breath, clutching at the tea. 

“He found out you were not taking classes?” 

She nodded dumbly. 

“Had you not told him?” 

“I told him I’d gotten a scholarship so that he could stop 

paying tuition, and that I was working as a nursing intern over the 

summer. I gave him the number of a girlfriend who would say I 

lived there but was out at the moment if he called…” 

She stared into her mug. I stared into her ear. 

“It was stupid, I know. But I didn’t want to face him.” 

“You lied,” I breathed softly. 

“So what? I sold my soul too. What damage is a lie going 

to do?” 

“Selling your soul is just a sacrifice. A lie is a blow to your 

own integrity- that is much worse.” 

“You’ve got to be joking. Haven’t you ever told a lie to 

avoid trouble?” 

“No! When I do something as bad as lying you had better 

believe it is for something more important than just avoiding 

trouble!” 

Juliana stared up at me, shocked out of her shock for the 

moment. My voice was louder than I had intended. 

“You have a weird set of morals,” said she. 

You do not know the half of it, thought I. 

I turned away from her, studying my dishes. In the 

reflection of a hanging pot I saw her take another sip from her 

mug. Her face took on an odd look. 

“Why am I drinking mushrooms?” 

“Muscle relaxant.” 

She nodded, still puzzled, then her lovely frame collapsed, 

crashing back into shock and despair. Her voice was almost too 

faint to hear. 

“He smashed my harp.” 

There was a knock at the door. 

I turned, palms tingling. 

“Don’t go,” she whispered. Her eyes were very large. 

Chapter Six 

I walked through the hall to the door’s heavy oak panels and 

laid my long left hand upon them. 

The young man who stood there was big, but not tall. He 

wore a checkered mackinaw and a tattered blue cap. There was a 

chaw of tobacco in his cheek, and he looked up at me with 

amusement and contempt in his grey-blue eyes. He touched his 

hat brim in the ritual of respect. 

423 

“I’m here for Miss Raskin,” he drawled. 

“Who?” 

He grinned and spat tobacco. 

“I followed her here. That’s her car out front. Don’t try to 

tell me she’s not around.” 

“There is a Miss Spring here. I have never heard of a Miss 

Raskin.” 

He spat again on my clean stone porch. 

“Spring’s not her real name.” 

“Who are you?” 

“I’m a friend of her father, Mr. Raskin. He told me to come 

and find his little girl.” He smirked up at me. His smile showed 

oddly clean teeth beneath the brown slime. 

“I know she’s in there.” 

“Mr. Raskin is currently liable for housebreaking, assault, 

and destruction of property. Miss Spring is currently under my 

protection. Cross this threshold and you will be liable for 

trespassing, assault and attempted kidnapping.” The clipped 

words flowed from a well of controlled wrath. 

The man on the porch took a half step backwards. 

“Now. Did Mr. Raskin tell you to find his daughter, or to 

find her and bring her back?” 

“He… He only said to find her, sir.” 

“Then you have done as he asked. Go tell him where she is, 

if you feel you have to.” 

The visitor rolled his poison uncertainly between his cheeks. 

“He’s still going to want her back,” he appended. 

“Then we will speak to him in the morning. Goodnight, 

Tom. It would be best for you not to come here again.” 

I closed the door in his startled face and dropped the heavy 

beam across it. 

Juliana was sitting still and pale when I returned to the 

kitchen. 

“Who was it?” 

“Thomas Weedon from Willard’s Landscaping, according 

to his hat. Do you know him?” 

“He goes to father’s church. I didn’t think he’d do anything 

like this.” 

“Is your name Juliana Spring?” 

“Juliana Spring Raskin. Spring was my mother’s name. 

I’ve never much cared for the Raskin part.” 

My eyes searched the woman sitting in my favorite chair, 

wondering what else I did not know about her. I felt the sweat of 

adrenaline evaporating off my sides, the almost taste of blood 

along my tongue. 

“What are we going to do now?” She asked. 

The storm churned outside like the Wild Hunt in training. 

Beneath the wind I heard a car start up and leave. 

“You and Sam are going to stay with me while we sort this 

out. Tomorrow morning you are going to talk with your father.” 

Bleach would only have darkened Juliana’s face. 

“Could I have some more mushrooms?” 

Chapter Seven 

The couple stayed for four nights. Sam and I packed up 

their apartment. It only took two trips; they owned very little 

beyond clothes and books. I collected the tangle of nylon and 

shattered walnut as Sam talked to the landlord. The harp was 

beyond repair.

“What are your plans?” I asked when Sam returned. 

“We’ll move somewhere else. There are a couple of 

schools that seemed excited about my coming. I did pretty well 

last year, and my medical requirements are all finished. I might 

try talking one of them into accepting me a year early. There is a 

seven-year MD/PhD program I was especially looking at. It can’t 

hurt to apply anyway. Desperation must count for something.” 

“I’m more worried about Julie,” he added after a pause. 

“That harp was her life. I don’t know what she’s going to do 

without it.” 

The day after the attack Juliana called her father. Their 

conversation was brief and private. She emerged from my study 

in tears. I held her as she wept and came as close as I ever have 

to hating someone I had never known. There was more grief in it 

than anger, really, but hate is such a simpler word. 

“What did you tell him?” 

“Everything. He doesn’t understand.” 

“Everything?” 

“Except where we are going and about our bargain. He 

figures I’m damned anyhow, so what’s the difference? He said 

I’d end up just like Mother.” 

“What happened to her?” 

“She was a dancer. She taught at some of the community 

centers, YWCA and places like that. She was very good, but it 

was always just a hobby. Then one day she got an offer to join a 

dance troupe and get paid for it. My parents fought about that for 

weeks. She felt she had only ever been a housewife and was 

entitled to at least try for her own career, and that even if it only 

lasted for the season it would be an adventure, so what was the 

harm in it? He argued that she would be abandoning her sacred 

duty as wife and mother. Making a charnel exhibition of her God 

given beauty, I think he called it. She said he had no right to talk 

like that, and that she was going to go off with them anyway. 

“Then one day she did… I came home from school and she 

was just gone, no note or anything. Dad fumed about it for 

months. He still gets furious if anyone mentions her. I kept 

hoping she would come back, or write, but she never did.” 

Juliana sniffed. 

“Why couldn’t she have taken me with her?” 

She fell silent. I stayed with her there in the darkening 

room until Sam came home to my rescue. 

Chapter Eight 

With no further prelude, Samhain was upon us. The 

displaced pair stayed on to wait out the weekend traffic and tie up 

some last loose ends. The celebration was at my house that year, 

in the woods out back. I invited my guests to join if they wished. 

Juliana begged off, pleading illness, leaving me once more in the 

kitchen. Baked pies, breads, and squashes; mulled wine, cider, 

and mead helped to distract me from her troubles. Sam came 

down after a bit to help me cook. 

“What is Samhain, exactly?” He asked as we sat amid the 

smells and bubbling pots, a pile of apples and peelings between us. 

I swallowed a crisp of red skin and reached for a Macintosh. 

“Samhain is the Druidic New Year. The harvest is in, the 

god is dead, the goddess is going into mourning until she gives 

birth to him anew on the Winter Solstice, December 21 st .” 

I flicked some seeds onto the table and shot Sam a hidden 

look. He was still listening. 

“It is a time when we remember all the people and things 

we have lost that year. Friends who died, lives that changed, parts 

424 

of ourselves that we choose to lay to rest. It is a time when spirits 

of the dead come half way back to earth. Some people believe 

that messages can be passed between them and the living, 

tonight.” I paused. He waited. 

“It is also the beginning of the New Year, and we remember 

that there is birth in all death, life in all change. It is a time to 

recall that things move on, however bleak or dismal the threat of 

winter seems.” 

Sam was staring at me, the knife idle in his hands. 

“What are you going to do?” He asked. 

“Sit around a fire and talk, mostly. Sing, remember, tell 

stories.” I waved a peeled apple. “Eat good food.” 

The right corner of his mouth twitched upwards. 

“No devil worship?” 

“’Fraid not. Sorry.” 

His grin became a full smile. I smiled as well. 

“You are a good listener, Sam. Thank you.” 

We piled in the last slices of fruit, added the final dusting of 

spices and lemon, then pinched down the sage sprinkled crust. 

The first batch of pies was ready to be pulled from the oven. 

“Those do look good. I think I may join you.” 

“We would be honored.” 

Chapter Nine 

That night I watched the flames, listening to the stories of 

loss, grief, and healing. Some of those who came remembered 

Sam from Beltain, half a year before, and they welcomed him 

quietly. Samhain is a much more subdued holiday, deeper than 

the festival of spring, and less wild. You could say that the one 

celebrates Life, the other Death, but that is only half true. Sex 

and Sacrifice are closer; Spring and Autumn. In the one the world 

is leaping back to life, winter is vanquished at last, and all of 

nature pours forth its joy in reproduction and song. In the other 

we see the dark half of the year beginning. Winter is real, the 

leaves are down, and the god has given himself in sacrifice that 

the world might continue on without him. They are Beltain and 

Samhain. They may be irreducible. I sat between the old year 

and the new, and wondered what would become of us all. 

A few people did actually burn letters to the dead. One man 

declared his life in the closet was over. A woman said good-bye 

to her father, killed in a car wreck eight years before. Food was 

passed, eaten, enjoyed. Sam said nothing, but his eyes burned, 

and I saw that he understood. 

The stories continued. My mind was worn out by other 

peoples' troubles. I stared vacantly into the fire, content to merely 

listen. One lady sang of the Fairie Courts riding and the rescue of 

Tam Llyn from Elfland’s Queen. The song seemed to take shape 

in the coals as I dozed, the great host passing, Tam with the star 

upon his brow, Margaret waiting, waiting, in her circle of holy 

water, the soul searing beauty of the Queen and her riders. I saw 

faces amidst that flickering host. One was a tall woman with eyes 

like the sunset and a face like Juliana might wear in another 

twenty years. She smiled, reaching out a long hand to brush my 

cheek—and then there was only the cold night wind, and smoke 

stinging tears from my old, tired eyes.

Chapter Ten 

The morning they left I gave Juliana a new harp. The black 

cherry pillar gleamed like plaited hair in the low sunlight of my 

library. The knotted maple soundboard whorled, swirls and 

ripples of grain on grain, eddies of foam on a long white shore. 

“She is strung with wires,” I cautioned, as I watched 

Juliana’s fingers quiver. “They ring differently than gut or nylon 

strings. You will have to learn to finger all over again.” 

“But where did it come from?” Juliana breathed. 

“She is my harp, Lorelia- and older than you are too, I 

might add, so show some respect!” I smiled. The harp whispered, 

my voice resonating in her sound box. It sounded like a chuckle. 

“You are a better player than I, Miss Spring. I think she 

would rather live with you.” 

Her sandy haired lover was grinning. Juliana threw her 

arms around me and squealed. 

Chapter Eleven 

The next day my phone rang, early. I answered. For a long 

moment there was nothing. Then came an indrawn hiss. 

“Thrice damned Druid. I know who you are. Let me speak 

to my daughter.” 

“Good morning to you too, Mr. Raskin. That was a nasty 

way to start a conversation.” 

“You are a Devil worshiping hell spawn. Why should I be 

polite to you? Your soul will rot in Lucifer’s bowels till the day 

when God dissolves you both.” 

“The Devil is a Christian figment, Mr. Raskin. You would 

know more about him than I.” 

“You are corrupting my daughter, leading her astray from 

the church and her family, encouraging her in that damned music 

and distracting her from God’s will. Let me speak to her.” 

“Who is to say God did not give her that passion, those 

dreams, the gift she has for music?” 

“Don’t play games with me. Where is my daughter?” 

“She is already gone. You have driven her away from both 

of us.” 

“Where is she?” 

“I am sorry to say that is none of your business. If she 

chose not to tell you herself, then I am not about to.” 

“Tell me where she is! I’ll kill you, Druid!” 

“’”Vengeance is mine,” saith the Lord.’ You are not He, 

Russell Raskin. I am perfectly willing to be judged by God. Try 

anything yourself and I will see you in court.” 

There came a long drawn hiss of air forced between teeth. 

“You thrice damned Druid. I’ll see you in Hell.” 

“Only if you are there. Good night, Russell.” 

I broke the connection before he could curse me again. 

Leaves swirled past my windows in their endless autumnal 

Totentanz. I stood and watched them, breathing very slowly. 

********* 

425 

Chapter Twelve 

The wetlands behind my forest rose and fell with the 

changing water table. A family of wood ducks moved into a 

dying soft maple, and I watched each May to see their chicks take 

their kamikaze leap of faith. The young ones hatch in a hole fifty 

feet up the trunk and are raised there by their long-suffering 

parents. When the ducklings decide they are ready to leave, they 

scramble to the opening and tumble out. They then have but 

moments in which to learn to fly. Each spring I sat watching in 

the moss, and the terror and the joy of each plummet peeled years 

from off my heart. 

The young lady who had sold me her soul was making the 

most of those years. While Sam drilled and researched his way 

toward twin degrees, Juliana played. She studied, practiced, 

improved, discovered, and soon she was herself discovered. The 

fiddle player of Sheebeg Sheemore was quitting the band, and the 

group’s manager had offered her his place. 

“What do you think?” She asked over the crackling phone 

from Seattle. “Should I take it?” 

“That depends on what you want.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Do you want to be a popular, successful, possibly rich and 

famous musician? Or do you want to be the best harpist in the 

world?” 

“I want to be the best in the world,” she decided. 

“Then you know what to do.” 

“Yes, I guess so…” 

“Are you happy?” I chanced, just before she hung up. 

“Deliriously! No worries at all!” 

Chapter Thirteen 

For several years after this she was traveling, six seasons in 

Ireland, three in Prague. She had moved beyond what any teacher 

could teach, into the boundless and stupefying realm of selfmastery. 

She learned something from every person she watched, 

heard, or played with, incorporated each skill into her own 

playing, and blossomed. She caught wind of an archaic bard in 

Scotland, of a novel percussive harping technique from Argentina. 

She traveled to see and to study, sharing always what she had 

learned. 

A withering bout of Dengue Fever ended Sam’s three-year 

tour as a village doctor in Papua New Guinea. He returned to the 

mid-west and started a family clinic, eventually buying a house 

with the profits. My own life and works progressed too, over that 

slow decade, but this is Juliana’s story, not mine, so I shall not 

speak of those. 

Late one December the couple invited me to spend the 

holidays with them. 

“Julie is giving a Christmas concert,” Sam told me. “And… 

Well, we were thinking about getting married.” 

“After twelve years, I should certainly hope so!” 

“We wondered if you would want to be in the ceremony.” 

“I would be delighted.” 

The concert taxed one’s credulity. It was said that the old 

Celtic bards had three musical gifts: They could make an 

audience laugh, weep, or sleep dreamlessly at will, such was the 

power of their music. Juliana was almost that good. She played 

moods, memories, concert pieces, orchestral segments that were 

feats of pure skill, and songs that seemed dragged out of the

listener instead of the harp. She played and played, and a hall full 

of musicians, students, artists, academics, fans, strangers, 

stragglers, and I sat in frozen wonder, our hearts scoured and our 

minds in awe at what her fingers drew from those shimmering 

chords. 

When it was over I moved through the clamoring sea of 

admirers and stood beside the stage as the waves swept about her, 

saying the things that people always say when trying to express 

admiration of the inconceivable. Juliana stood flushed, as thin 

and tall as the day we had met, thanking them all with a quiet, 

blushing, angelic grace. One boy of ten or so was ushered 

forward between his parents and stood with fire in his eyes as 

they offered up their praise. 

“My daddy says you must have sold your soul to play like 

that,” he piped out between the “thank-yous.” 

“Now, wait…” His father laughed, a hand on the boys arm. 

“That’s not true, is it? It’s just lots of hard work and 

practice, right?” 

His parents chuckled nervously. Juliana smiled. 

“I practice all the time,” she assured the young, earnest eyes. 

“Hours. Every day.” 

The boy nodded as he was led away, but I witnessed how 

the harpist shivered once his back was turned. The flush of 

exhilaration had drained from her. The crowds flowed on 

unheeding. 

Chapter Fourteen 

There was tension over the dinner table of Hammersmith 

and Spring that night. Sam looked silent questions at the both of 

us through the meal, while the conversation danced and wandered, 

avoiding things not said in threes. I retired to leave them alone 

after the pudding, but the walls were thin, and when I lay down to 

rest in the dark spare room, their words crept through the 

woodwork. 

“But what if he’s right?” 

“This is what you’ve wanted your whole life, Ju.” 

“But what has it cost us?” 

“What about it?” 

“When he asked that it was as if all the things I haven’t 

thought of in ten years leapt back. I’ve been so busy playing I 

never thought about the price! Sam… I sold that man my soul! 

Do you have any idea what that means?” 

“No more than you do, when you stop to think about it.” 

“What’s going to happen to me?” 

“Ju. That man’s been the best friend either of us has ever 

had. Did you know he talked the Chair of the Admissions board 

into letting me enter that seven-year program when I was still a 

junior? I didn’t find out till after I’d graduated! He’s helped us 

with everything we’ve ever asked, been there when our own 

families were not around.” 

“And I owe him my soul.” 

“So what if you do? You thought about all that before you 

left college and decided it was worth the sacrifice.” 

“Well, now I’m thinking about it again. I don’t want to go 

to Hell, Sam, or just stop when I die, or go wherever Druids 

believe soulless people go. How can we even be talking about 

belief? If he buys the things he must know what happens to 

them!” 

“You’re getting hysterical, Ju.” 

“No I’m not! I’m just… Scared.” 

“Would you rather give up your music?” 

426 

There was silence after that, or sounds too soft for me to 

hear through pine. 

I turned slowly from the wall feeling every one of my years, 

and the bitter pit of all the things that men have ever called me. 

Judas, Efnisan, Heart-wrecker. What becomes of people who 

cannot forgive themselves? 

The doorbell chimed. 

Sam’s soft tread moved to answer. 

There was a crash, a scream, the sounds of struggle—and I 

was out the door and moving before I knew I had risen. 

A man I had never seen was swearing in the hall. Sam sat 

upright but dazed against the sofa, blood coloring his sandy pale 

hair. Glass from the door was sprayed across the carpet. The 

intruder turned to face me. We both froze. 

Juliana’s father was skeleton thin, his flesh burned off by 

the flames within him. A long coat billowed round him like a 

dark, wild, robe, threadbare and whisper thin. He looked like a 

man to whom heat and cold were the same: both inconsequential 

to the climate inside. His arms and jaw writhed in a frenzy of 

continual motion, the left hand, claw-like, snaking out toward me. 

He waved an iron crucifix like a blunt, inverted sword, and his 

eyes blazed with something that I never hoped to see. I looked up 

at him. 

“You,” he whispered. His knees crouched like a fighter’s. 

A door slammed and locked behind me. Juliana’s voice 

was frantic on the phone. 

I studied his shoulders and the angle of his feet, feeling the 

room about me, and hoping there was space to move. 

“I come only to reclaim my daughters soul, and God sees fit 

to set a devil against me, to test my will and courage. Well?” He 

roared, “Curse me, Druid! You cannot stand before the wrath of 

righteousness. Do your worst.” 

“I am your daughters friend, Mr. Raskin, and no more a 

devil than you are.” 

Blood from Sam’s scalp dribbled from the crucifix. 

“You lie. I’ve studied you. Orgies in the woods, preaching 

to young students, scheming and smiling and striving to undo two 

thousand years of Christ’s work on earth. You seduce people 

away from the Trinity with your Triple Goddess and blind them 

with your nature worship. You tell them the world is God’s word 

made flesh and the Good Books be damned—and manage to hide 

my daughters movements from me across eleven years! Yes, I 

know you, you thrice damned Druid. Curse away before I strike 

you down.” 

“We both teach what we believe, Russell. No human being 

knows the full truth of reality. We each live as we think best and 

pay the price for that choice. You know this. Do not make it any 

worse.” 

There was a siren and the squeal of tires in the drive. 

Record timing, that. 

“Clever, Druid, trying to turn my mind against me. But you 

are wrong. I know.” He shuddered. “I know the will of God as 

well as you do, who seek to pervert it. I know… And I know this 

too,” he swung the cross in an all-encompassing arc. “The Lord 

has told me that no human hand can stop me in my mission. Not 

him on the floor, nor the foolish arm of the law, nor you neither, 

devil though you be. Curse away and meet your doom.” 

“Put down your weapon!” Came a voice from the door. 

Young, scared despite its training. “Throw down your weapon! -- 

Base, I need backup!” 

“I will not curse you, Russell, and I will not let you touch 

your daughter. I have been her friend for eleven years, watched 

her through every storm, helped her realize a dream you would

not even see. I have been more of a father to her than you have, 

and not you nor God can take that from me.” 

“I will take her from you now,” he growled, advancing. 

(Drop your weapon, Mister!) “The care of her soul is in my 

hands, and takes precedent over any dreams of the flesh. God 

condones all actions undertaken in the interest of the soul. I will 

have her from you before she ends up –just –like –her –mother!” 

He spat these last words with a roiling hiss and raised the cross on 

high. 

I do not often read peoples minds. Sometimes I wish I 

never did at all. 

“You bastard,” I breathed. “What that you’ve done would 

your God condone?” 

Russell Raskin halted mid stride. His eyes bulged. His 

throat gurgled something that would never be a word. His left 

side spasmed violently, and the force of it spun him twitching to 

the ground. The crucifix leapt from his hand, hiding its face in 

the carpet. Russell curled and splayed, and then lay still. 

The policeman came forward, gun drawn. 

“I would have shot him. Really, I would have.” 

Shut up, I willed him. 

“What did you do to him?” He asked in awe. 

“Nothing. Call an ambulance.” 

Chapter Fifteen 

The beeps and muted bustle of the world’s worst waiting 

room fought the smell of antiseptic for possession of the air, as I 

sat down to wait beside Juliana Spring. The slump of her 

tempered shoulders informed me she had no emotions left. Sam 

was sleeping down the hall, six stitches, no fracture, and an egg 

on his crown fit to hatch the Christmas turkey we had not had 

time to eat. 

“Is he awake?” I offered, by way of conversation. 

“What did you do to him?” 

My eyes winced shut. 

“I did nothing…” 

Nothing. 

“How is he?” 

“Doctor Sato says his mind is clear, but his body is 

completely wrecked. She says it was either a stroke or a heart 

attack, or possibly both at once. She says it’s hard to tell because 

we don’t have any medical records…” 

She trailed off, gazing through the tiles. Her hands tore at a 

Styrofoam cup. 

“The police searched his house for paperwork, but they 

couldn’t find anything useful. Just junk and religious tracts… No 

records… No will…” 

“They found…” Her voice died. She tried again. 

“They found…” 

I put my arm around her, but she was done with tears. 

“They found my mother’s teeth in the basement.” 

“I know.” 

“You know? Why do you always know?” 

I shook my head. 

“What will you do?” Said I, when the silence became too 

painful. 

“He’s dying, isn’t he?” 

“Yes,” I responded, knowing it was true. 

“Then I suppose I’ll have to forgive him.” 

427 

“That is up to you.” 

She sniffed. 

Nurses flitted past, pale as ghosts, busy as angels, each 

sacrificing their Christmas day to make the world a touch less 

painful. After a timeless tedium Juliana squeezed my hand. 

“Thanks.” Only a whisper, but sincere. 

I smiled thinly. 

“He wants to see you, you know,” said Juliana suddenly. 

“What?” 

“That’s what he said.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“He didn’t say. He just asked me to send in the damned 

Druid if he came around.” 

I contemplated the machines, the smells of death and 

healing. 

“Then I will go and see him.” 

Chapter Sixteen 

Russell Raskin lay like a skull on a pillow, his hands 

gnarled and nearly lifeless on the sheet that pinned him down. 

Wires trailed beneath the cloth. A tube bled oxygen into the air 

beneath his nose. His eyes followed me as I entered the room. 

There was a chair by the window. I sat. 

“You knew.” His voice was quiet. 

I nodded. 

“How?” 

“I looked into your eyes and saw the truth that lived there.” 

“God told you,” muttered Russell. “He told you, so that 

you would tell me, that I might see my life for what it was. The 

bastard. You are no better than I was. Why should He let you 

win?” 

I said nothing. 

“He did not lie, you know.” 

“I do not think the gods can lie. It seems a purely human 

art.” 

“He told me no human hand would stop me, too. I did not 

realize that meant He would.” 

“Perhaps he was giving you the chance to stop yourself.” 

“Shut up with the righteousness, will you?” 

I studied the wires and tubes, the machines that stretched his 

life. 

“Look at me- a dying preacher discussing God with a Druid. 

I must be mad.” 

“I once read that the important religious distinction was not 

between those who believed and those who did not, but between 

those who loved and those who did not. What you or I believe 

may not matter so long as we act with love.” 

“That does not leave me any better off,” growled Russell. 

I looked away. 

“You loved them both, Russell. You could not have hated 

so powerfully else.” 

“Do you believe that?” 

I shrugged carefully. 

His eyes blazed. 

“Answer me, damn you! Do you believe that? Or are you 

feeding me lies so I’ll die content?”

“I was offering an interpretations of events that might bring 

you peace, should you choose to believe it. How could I know 

what you felt?” 

“You knew what I did.” 

“That is not the same thing. Besides, is it not the role of 

priests to bring comfort to the dying?” 

“Not this priest. I’ve never wanted comfort. Comfort keeps 

you from facing the truth.” 

“Facing the truth just got you killed.” 

“Bullshit. Hiding the truth got me killed. Owning up to it 

just let me die- that and your damned questions. And don’t 

expect me to thank you for that either!” 

“I don’t. Believe me.” 

Raskin coughed, exhausted by the effort. 

“Why did you do it, anyway?” He asked. 

“For Juliana.” 

The preacher was silent. 

“I heard her play, you know. At the concert. A friend of a 

friend told me about it. That’s how I found you. She is good. If 

God loves music you may not have done such a bad thing.” 

“She has thrown her whole life into the harp,” I responded. 

“I only hope she forgives me that.” 

“If not, it’s nothing worse than what I’ve done.” 

“No? You only hid the truth. I let her believe a false one.” 

“That’s not as bad as murder. Maybe I will see you in Hell 

after all.” 

The pale Christmas sunshine sidled slowly down the wall. 

Church bells caroled in the steeple outside. 

“Why did you want to see me?” I asked. 

The old man chuckled. 

“Who else was I supposed to talk to? Juliana? My flock? 

Haven’t you read your Nietzsche? All friends lie. Only your 

enemies will tell you the truth.” 

I smiled ruefully. There was nothing I could say to that. 

“Speaking of which,” said Russell sharply. 

I stilled my features. Dying as he was, this man could still 

wound me. 

“I’ve heard it said that Juliana sold her soul to play the way 

she does. Do you know anything about that?” 

“There are different ways to sell ones’ soul,” I answered 

very carefully. “One can drive a supernatural bargain, one can 

destroy some thing or quality central to ones’ identity, or one can 

commit ones’ self so completely to a single pursuit that 

everything else must be neglected. Out of countless paths Juliana 

has chosen one- and never left it. She has never explored 

anything else, never tried to discover other worlds, other loves, 

other things she could be. She has brutally pruned her own 

possibilities, and thus accomplished something practically 

impossible. In that sense she has sold her soul. To me that is an 

admirable and terrifying choice.” 

Juliana’s father watched me very quietly. 

“There was nothing supernatural involved?” 

“There was nothing supernatural involved.” 

Russell grunted. It could have meant anything. 

“What a strange way to think,” he muttered at last. 

Minutes drifted by. Raskin's breaths were getting weaker. 

“Is Sam alright?” He asked me suddenly. 

“A few stitches. He will be fine.” 

“Good.” 

A certain tension went out of him. 

“Last request time, isn’t it?” 

428 

I bit my lip, nodded. 

“Tell Juliana she can perform at my funeral.” He grinned 

savagely. “Bet she always wanted to play me to death.” 

“I’ll do that.” 

Russell Raskin glared up at me. His grey eyes burned, 

dimming. 

“….Thrice damned Druid… Take care of my little girl for 

me.” 

“I will,” I whispered, and he was gone. 

Chapter Seventeen 

Very few people can manage a funeral and a wedding in the 

same week with any sort of grace. Sam was one of those few. 

Watching him move amongst the wedding guests and the 

mourners from Russell’s church, I realized what it was in him that 

my lovely harpist loved. Juliana Spring Raskin Hammersmith 

refused to have the wedding put off. She put on all the requisite 

roles and played at both events. 

There was something new in her music now. In her triple 

guise as daughter, widow, and angel of death, she played at the 

funeral something I had never heard. There was grief in it, and 

longing, forgiveness, surcease and healing. She was burying both 

her parents that day, though none but we three knew it. She 

played what she played, and the gathered mourners wept, longed, 

suffered, and forgave, without ever understanding what it was for. 

“What was that?” I asked her later. 

“The music in my dreams. I just sat and listened and played 

what I felt. It is the first time that has happened.” 

“Maybe it was worth it,” she added. 

She was staring at nothing at all as she spoke. I knew not if 

she addressed myself, or the grave. 

“Juliana,” I began. 

“No.” She stopped me. “I am not the best in the world yet. 

Almost, but not yet. That might not be so important now, but this 

new thing is. This is a thing I need to explore.” 

She rose and left me where the wind played games with the 

snowflakes and the headstones, the memories and the souls. 

At the wedding she played love, but that is an impoverished 

word to call what was in her music. She played the passion of the 

newly wed, the depth and humor that comes of knowing another 

life and mind through twelve long years. She played the tender 

care of a parent- and this from someone who had never had a 

child. And she played something else. A thing too powerful to 

name, that choked me with a private longing. It reached inside to 

drag out notions I had sworn I would never entertain, and left me 

shaken with its passage. Juliana’s eyes caught mine as she 

touched the strings, and she smiled at me for the first time since 

the concert. 

At last she released us and took Sam’s hand in hers. The 

guests gaped, daring only to breath. The pastor stood slowly at 

the head of the chapel. He stretched forth tremulous arms and 

raised his face to the heavens. 

“Amen!” He exclaimed. 

And that was the wedding. 

*********

Chapter Eighteen 

Now I grow weary of the passage of time, and this telling 

has nearly reached its end. Five years later Juliana was the best 

harpist in the world, without a doubt, by any standard you cared 

to name. There were those who said she was the best musician in 

the world, that she played on peoples' souls instead of strings. 

The seasons’ changeless change had swung through to 

Beltain again when the couple came to visit me. I led them down 

to the workshop where I had labored all winter. 

“I have something for you,” I let on as we approached. 

Standing on the bench was a small traveling harp of darkest 

mahogany, completely unadorned, polished as glass. Its strings 

glowed like liquid sunshine in the clear spring light. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Sam wondered aloud. 

“Golden strings,” I smiled. “The best harpists have always 

had them.” 

“You’re trying to make a legend out of me, aren’t you?” 

Said Juliana. 

I laughed. 

“If I am, I am too late. You are that already. I just 

wondered what gold harp strings might sound like, that is all, and 

you are the only one good enough to do them justice.” 

She gave me a quick hug. 

“You are too kind.” 

“Hardly. But come outside. The Maypole is starting.” 

Chapter Twenty 

The rest of the day was a time of celebration and life, that 

fluid, wonderful, time defying clarity that once seen remains 

forever living in a persons' heart. The feast was consumed, the 

pole danced and braided, the King and Queen of the May chosen, 

crowned and married. I sat on a sun soaked log to rest my knees 

after the ceremony, watching the wedding games. The King and 

Queen stood in a circle of revelers, their hands tied to full wine 

cups, holding a kiss between them. Those in the ring joked, 

teased, and shouted, gleefully doing everything they could short 

of actual contact to make the couple laugh and break it off. 

Juliana collapsed lightly to my right, flowers in her hair and 

laughter in her eyes. 

“All these years, all these Beltains,” she began. “How is it 

that you never married?” 

I looked at her in surprise. Her eyes teased mine. 

“Who would have had me?” 

“I might have.” 

“I am twice your age, dear.” 

“Not any more you’re not.” 

“True. But you had Sam.” 

“True.” She gazed at him fondly from across the green. 

“We are thinking of having children, he and I. I am not 

quite too old yet.” She laughed. “But what sort of mother would 

a soulless woman make?” 

“Juliana Spring,” sighed I, and took her hand in mine. “I 

never took your soul.” 

She stared. 

“You what?” 

“I never took it. Your soul has been yours all along.” 

“But you did! Our bargain- you spoke those words and I 

felt it leave!” 

429 

“It was all in your mind then. I do not really know if souls 

can be sold. Lost, saved, destroyed, nourished, abandoned, loved, 

certainly, but to the best of my knowledge your soul is with you 

always, love it or hate it, to do with as you will. What would I 

have done with an extra soul, anyhow?” 

The harpist’s jaw worked soundlessly. 

“But if you couldn’t buy my soul, why did you even want to 

meet me in the first place?” 

“I wanted to see what it was like to want something that 

badly. I never have, you know. Most people never do. I could 

not imagine a desire so strong in a person that young. I had to 

meet you.” 

Laughter erupted throughout the glade. Someone had 

started people-fishing with doughnuts. 

“You tricked us,” she said at last. 

“I did. Are you angry?” 

“I don’t know yet… If there was no bargain, then 

everything you’ve done—“ 

“I did nothing.” I cut her off. “It was all you, Juliana.” 

“But why?” 

“What would you have done all those years ago, if I had 

told you souls could not be sold, that only practice, passion, and 

infinite dedication could make you a better harpist? What if I had 

told you that even with guidance, time, and expert teachers there 

was no guarantee you would ever be as good as you wanted, or 

that dream music could never be properly reproduced? I had 

never even heard you play, remember?” 

“I might have become a nurse,” she reflected. “Why didn’t 

you though?” 

“Because you were serious. Because you were strong 

enough to make me wonder. Because the gods love it when we 

act bravely.” Her deep, deep eyes searched mine. 

“And because, watching you, I got just an inkling of how 

powerful that desire might be.” 

In an ideal world she would have kissed me then. But we were in 

this one, and the moment passed. 

“I will name my firstborn after you.” 

I laughed. 

“Even if it is a girl?” 

“Even better! I could never have done it without you.” 

“Nonsense,” said I, but it is hard to sound believably stern 

when your cheeks are flushing crimson. 

Chapter Twenty-One 

Juliana played her new harp for us that night, while the 

couples snuggled and the stars blazed down. She sat on our log in 

a borrowed cloak with her hair blowing long about her shoulders. 

The strings burned golden in the firelight as they sang, and a 

whole generation of listening fools began to believe in magic. 

It was the story of her life we heard, made music, wordless 

and eloquent. Dream songs from her childhood, her mother 

vanished, father possessed, early despair in her years in college 

and the flush of young love in meeting Sam. Then came the 

power, the wonder, the mystery and horror of an unspeakable 

bargain, the surrender, confidence and strange purity it 

engendered, and at last the full splendor of the mature theme 

began. Two decades of concentration and skill in one ascending 

spiral, the struggle, journey, grief, love, discovery, mastery—and 

at the end, when I was sure there could be nothing left to feel, 

came joy. 

The End.

This page has been intentionally left blank. 

430 

So Ends Volume Six of the 

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