(Francis Danby – The Wood Nymph’s Hymn to the Rising Sun)
Working against the weather today… so this is just a wee quick entry.
Blessings,
Gwyllm
On The Menu:
Richard Thompson – She Moves Through The Faire
Poetry/Lyrics: She Moved Through the Faire
Dead Can Dance – The Wind That Shakes The Barley
Poetry/Lyrics: The Wind That Shakes The Barley
Art: Francis Danby
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Richard Thompson – She Moves Through The Faire…
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She Moved Through the Faire
My young love said to me: My mother won’t mind,
And my father won’t slight you for your lack of kind.
She put her arms ’round me; these words she did say:
It will not be long, love, ’til our wedding day!
Then she stepped away from me, and she moved thru the Faire,
And so fondly I watched her move here and move there;
At last she turned homeward, with one star awake,
As the Swan in the evening moves over the lake.
Last night she came to me, my dead love came in,
And so soft did she move that her feet made no din;
She put her arms ’round me; these words she did say:
It will not be long, love, ’til our wedding day!
Padraic Colum
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(Francis Danby – Dissapointed In Love)
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Dead Can Dance – The Wind That Shakes The Barley…
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The Wind That Shakes The Barley
I sat within the valley green, I sat me with my true love
My sad heart strove the two between, the old love and the new love
The old for her, the new that made me think on Ireland dearly
While soft the wind blew down the glen and shook the golden barley
‘Twas hard the woeful words to frame to break the ties that bound us
But harder still to bear the shame of foreign chains around us
And so I said, “The mountain glen I’ll seek at morning early
And join the bold united men, while soft winds shake the barley”
While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms round her flinging
The foeman’s shot burst on our ears from out the wildwood ringing
A bullet pierced my true love’s side in life’s young spring so early
And on my breast in blood she died while soft winds shook the barley
But blood for blood without remorse I’ve taken at Oulart Hollow
And laid my true love’s clay cold corpse where I full soon may follow
As round her grave I wander drear, noon, night and morning early
With breaking heart when e’er I hear the wind that shakes the barley
Robert Dwyer Joyce
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(Francis Danby – A View Of Cader Idris)
