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But She will bring the buds in...
to be credited with her then (maiden) name, Kathie Courtice, and I,
(repeat freely)
simply as Peter Basquin.
306
The Host is Riding The Rune of Hospitality
(Poem by Yeats) (A Medieval Charm)
(Poem by Yeats) (A Medieval Charm)
(Poem by Yeats) (A Medieval Charm)
(Poem by Yeats) (A Medieval Charm)
(Poem by Yeats) (A Medieval Charm)
The host is riding from Knocknarea I saw a stranger yestere e n.
And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare; I put food in the eating-place,
Caolte tossing his burning hair, Drink in the drinking-place,
And Niamh calling, Away, come away: Music in the listening-place.
Empty your heart of its mortal dream And in the blessed names
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Of the Holy Ones,
Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, He blest myself and my house,
Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam, My cattle and my dear ones.
Our arms are waving, our lips are apart, And the lark sang in her song:
And if any gaze on our rushing band, Often, often, often,
We come between him and the deed of his hand, Go the Gods in the guise of strangers.
We come between him and the hope of his heart. Often, often, often,
The host is rushing twixt night and day; Go the Gods in the guise of strangers.
And where is there hope or deed as fair?
Caolte tossing his burning hair,
Will Ye No Come Back Again?
And Niamh calling, Away, come away.
Words by Isaac Bonewits
Sung to the traditional tune of:
Oimelc Hymn
Bonny Charlie s Now Awa
(for use during Communion)
(for use during Communion)
(for use during Communion)
(for use during Communion)
(for use during Communion)
1
In exile live our Olden Gods,
Words by Robert Larson (NRDNA)
Banished o er the foaming main,
To lands no mortal ever trods.
The days are short,
Will They e er come back again?
the heavens dark
the Mother sleeps.
Chorus
The trees are bare
Will Ye no come back again?
the north wind stalks
Will Ye no come back again?
the Mother sleeps.
Better love Ye canna be.
The nights are long
Will Ye no come back again?
and full of fright,
the Mother sleeps.
2
But the ewe gives birth,
Hills They walked were all Their own,
the ewe gives milk
Blest the land, from sea to sea;
the Mother stirs.
Till the clergy, with pious moan,
The Mother smiles
Banished all the noble Shee!
with dreams of life
She will return.
3
And on that day
Sweet the chanting of the Druids,
will we rejoice
Lilting wildly up the glen,
when She returns.
Pouring out the sacred fluids,
Long the day,
As they sing Your songs again!
bright the sky,
when She returns.
4
Green the trees,
Many a gallant Pagan fought,
soft the breeze,
Many a gallant Witch did burn;
when She returns.
Priest and Priestess, both have sought,
Short the night,
To sing the prayers Ye canna spurn!
our fires alight,
when She returns!
5
Now with eagle and with dove,
(extra verses may be added by each Grove)
Sing we here our heartfelt plea:
Come with thunder or with love,
But come! Good Gods, we so need Thee!!
307
May Their Devil Take the Preachers Hymn to Hurry the Return of Spring
(A poem by Mary Siegle)
(A poem by Mary Siegle)
(A poem by Mary Siegle)
(A poem by Mary Siegle)
(A poem by Mary Siegle)
Words by Chwerthin
Sung to the traditional tune of:
Greet the Goddess with bells and drum,
God Bless England (the Irish version)
Greet the God with laughter.
This is the night the dawn begins
1
The day to follow after.
We ll sing you a tale of wrath and woe
Wack-for-the-diddle,diddle-di-do-day,
Gather the old, the dead from the trees,
For the men who laid our freedom low
Carry it in your arms.
Wack-for-the-diddle, diddle-di-do-day.
Bring it into the deep, deep woods,
May fear and famine be their share,
Away from the towns and the farms.
Who ve kept our land in want and care.
May their Devil take the preachers
Build you a living fire tonight-
Is our prayer!
Pile the branches high.
And know that in the fire s glow,
Chorus:
There s warmth to light the sky.
Wack-for-the-diddle, diddle-di-do-day.
Hip hooray! So we say!
There s an old man cries the town tonight;
Come and listen while we pray!
Down wide streets and narrow;
Wack-for-the-diddle, diddle-di-do-day.
Bring out, bring out, what you don t need,
and toss it in my barrow.
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