VilyaTook |
|
Lothiel |
|
Neneithel |
|
Lothiel |
|
elvenmaidofmirkwood |
|
Lothiel |
|
VilyaTook |
|
Neneithel |
|
VilyaTook |
|
Lothiel |
|
|
|
VilyaTook |
|
moonletters |
|
elvenmaidofmirkwood |
|
Lady~Eowyn |
|
Lothiel |
|
AerhÃril |
|
|
|
VilyaTook |
|
Neneithel |
RE: Bards of Rivendell (Poetry Club) on: July 29, 2004 08:55
|
|
Here are two very long ones. I hope they are not too long.
The Meeting of Cyfeilles and the Stranger.
Cyfeilles:
Who are you, who stands at my gate,
Beside a chariot of such unworldly style?
Do you seek shelter? Come in at once!
There is no warmer fire this side of the woods.
Doff your wet cloak and take one of mine about you.
The feast is well begun, but there is meat and wine to spare.
I am Cyfeilles, child of Serch and Cariad.
What is your name, your lineage?
From whom do you come to us this turbulent night?
Prydain:
I am Prydain, my father is Balchder, Ffydd my mother.
I was born amidst riches, grew amongst gold.
Finely crafted were my ornaments, richly I ate.
From the Hafren I drew wine, from the Tafwys, mead.
Rhydychen held my heart, Eryri my soul.
White horses I rode over fair fields, unfearing.
Apples weighed down the boughs of trees,
Hazelnuts in every thicket, beechmast for swine.
Thick were the rivers with fish, and the sea
Filled with silver shoals, sleek and fleet.
My herds were healthy, gave milk and meat unsparingly.
Honey flowed in rivers from my hives,
The molten gold of Gwynfa.
I was accounted accomplished, for I was skilled.
I could wield a sword with great strength,
Balchder's might flowed through my arm.
As easily, I could take up a spindle and work flax to linen,
Wool to yarn, nettle to rope.
My hands, unencumbered, could stir a harp to life.
I could play the strains of sleep or humour,
The halting, weeping strain of sorrow.
I could list the names of heroes long dead,
For they had written in blood on my heart.
Each of them I loved, fair-featured warriors.
I loved too the bards, as they loved me.
They sang my name, or whispered it,
Praised my line with passionate words.
Clothed in their warm regard, I feared no winter.
Sweet days of happiness in my own hall!
Cyfeilles:
How then do you come amongst us
Unescorted save for an old bard
Of sad eyes and bent back?
You speak well, and I see the truth
In the light of your weary eyes,
But what became of your wealth?
Where are your great warriors?
If wrong has been done you, speak,
No guest of my hall will lack support.
Prydain:
False-hearted men came, knowing nothing of honour.
They called Balchder unworthy, Ffydd deceitful.
Slander upon slander heaped upon the bones of saints
And the graves of fair-aspected heroes.
Rhinwedd, my sister, was threatened and hid.
I wept for her in the lightless nights.
I was commanded to kneel before old enemies.
When I refused, they robbed me of my name.
They cast my bronze mirror into the sea
And cut my long hair with knives.
Cenfigen took my golden brooch
And threw it into a dirty sack.
Beiddgar, my brother, great warrior prince,
Drove them away from me.
Afraid for my honour, he bade me flee.
He gave me into the hands of Hiraeth, wisest of bards.
So little I kept of all that was mine.
My horse, Gobaith, strongest of his kind,
Drew my chariot, Sofraniaeth.
Teyrngar my hound ran beside me,
Ready to leap between me and my death.
My harp, Treftadaeth, hung at my chariot's side.
Were I to let that fall, all would be lost.
Better I should die, if in death it could lie in my arms.
Without it, what am I? A shadow, no more.
Hiraeth was ever with me, at my side.
Each night, he sang to me, each dawn awoke me
With reminders of who I was, where I must go.
Though his words must grieve me,
Yet I would not be free of him.
To be without him would be worse, to have no sound,
No voice to remind me. He was my friend.
Had he not urged me on, encouraged me,
I would have lain upon the ground to die.
Deep sorrows on the path of the exile!
Cyfeilles:
This is dark indeed, and evil beyond imagining.
Does your brother live? Your sister?
Do any stand with you?
Fair and noble queen, how do things stand now?
Prydain:
Alas, I know not, kindly friend.
Beiddgar has not been seen in these isles
Since Bradwyr called him a traitor.
Bradwyr who kneels at the feet of Cenfigen,
Like a loyal hound, a puppy!
Rhinwedd, gentle Rhinwedd,
How could she show her face here?
She was no warrior, she could not kill.
Her tenderness made her dear to us, weak to them.
I shall look for her in the groves of Iwerddon.
Where else would she flee, she who loved life?
She will be amongst trees, and there we will find her.
She was the music of my heart,
As Beiddgar was the strength of my will.
Now none stand with me, unless secretly,
None but Hiraeth, he is faithful.
He seems weak, but is strong.
He will outlast the mountains.
Cenfigen has struck down the oaks of my land.
Great forests have fallen, fertile fields are dead.
The herds are weak and sickly, stumbling in mire.
My rich hives are silent, for the bees miss Rhinwedd
And will not pour mead down the throat of Bradwyr.
The shoals are gone, stolen by Trachwant.
All of my riches are wasted and my gold over the sea,
Trinkets for my enemies.
Weep, weep, for Prydain of the broken heart!
Cyfeilles:
I will weep for you tonight,
Shed tears in this hall, blood in battle.
For Ffydd was ever kind to me,
And Balchder is no stranger to this hall.
Kinswoman, forgive me that I knew you not,
For you are greatly changed.
Doubt not that I love you.
In my heart, I call you sister.
Let me be a sister to you
Until your own returns
And wield my blade beside yours.
Speak, and the warriors of this hall will be yours.
Prydain:
This is help unlooked for!
I dared not hope that I could find swords
And arms to wield them here or anywhere.
When all is well once more
And I am in my proper place,
None of my wealth shall be kept from you.
In my hall, a greater feast than this will be yours.
You shall drink wine from vessels of gold.
My bards shall list the names of your warriors,
And your name shall be spoken with love.
The battle will be costly, but we will win.
For it was said, long ago, by a wise man
That my strength is in the faithfulness of friends
And my own enduring honour.
We shall succeed, and our enemies shall fall
Or flee into the waves of the sea,
And her waves will not spare them,
For she is close kin to me and no friend of theirs.
Cyfeilles, I will keep you closer than Hiraeth,
As close as Treftadaeth, for like the harp,
You uplift my spirit and encourage me.
Let us fight together, that one shall not outlive the other,
For my heart forbids that I should live an hour longer than you.
Cariad's daughter will be my sister,
Whether Rhinwedd is found or not.
I have awakened from dark dreams in your hall.
Your feast has restored my strength
And your courage has brought back my hope.
Whatever becomes us now will come to both.
Your name is immortal, for you have done it honour.
Victory springs from honour and friendship!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Prydain Amongst Her Enemies.
Cenfigen:
Prydain, child of Balchder, cease your raucous battle cry!
You are a woman and no man of battle.
Generous are my terms, kindly would I deal with you.
I will marry you and make you almost my equal.
Forget your holdings, what were they to you?
What needs a woman but the space for her loom?
Sit with me and share my feast.
Live at my side and cease to haunt fields of death.
Bradwyr:
Generous indeed is Cenfigen the Golden.
See you not his crown of stars?
Does not the world fall at his feet?
What merchant ignores his halls?
Be his wife and not his enemy.
Live and cease to search for death in battle.
Prydain:
Better I should be wife to Hiraeth,
The bard is a man, at least, though he is old.
Better I should starve on a rutted track
Than that I should eat food in this hall.
Strike me, kill me, steal what remains to me,
Broken, dead, with nothing, still I am greater
Than Cenfigen, who gives his men ale like marsh water
When I gave mine the sweet mead of Gwynfa.
Be his wife? Has he not wife enough in you, Bradwyr?
You run after him as if you were his mother,
Fall at his feet like an infant.
Can you not be all kin to him? His priest too,
For you think him godlike.
You marry him, if the thought pleases you.
I am of the line of Rhyddid.
Carchar is his home, and Rhyddid's family cannot live there.
Cenfigen:
Live here then, and rule the lands you love best.
If you will bow to my will, all others shall be under your feet.
Bradwyr will kneel before you and before your sons.
Such fine sons will be born to us!
Your people would be glad to see you here.
If you refuse me, I must think you still my enemy.
Bradwyr:
Do not be his enemy. Many have died that way!
Do not give him cause for anger.
Swift and terrible is the wrath of Cenfigen.
Did he not crush the warriors of Cwrw
And make the proud ones weak?
Did he not bring from the fields of Marwydos
Treasures uncounted and slaves without number?
Prydain:
That Cenfigen cannot count is no concern of mine.
Should I be his wife for pity?
Cwrw's men may be defeated, but what of it?
Once Cwrw's finest fled from me.
The fields of Marwydos are not peopled with heroes,
Though many are buried there.
Do not the folk of the northern wastes refuse Cenfigen his tribute?
The Fflamau fight on, though Marwydos will not.
Bear you sons, Cenfigen? What for?
Would not your blood unman them as it has you?
My daughters will be more mighty than your sons.
The manly strength of my sons will eclipse the sun.
I will be wife only to my equal, and never to a weak fool.
Cenfigen:
Long have I been patient, Prydain.
I have endured your taunts and your insolence.
I have lost good warriors in battle to subdue you.
Now you stand here, a captive.
My patience cannot continue forever.
Kneel, only kneel, and you shall be spared.
Bradwyr:
Many warriors, good warriors have died,
Killed by those wild creatures who serve you.
Cyfeilles fought with you, but she is fled.
All have abandoned you, gone to ground.
Kneel now before your natural lord.
Do you account your life so worthless you would die?
Prydain:
It would be worthless indeed if bought by kneeling.
If you would see me on my knees before him
You must put me there, for I am Prydain.
I do not fall to my knees in terror.
I leave such weakness to creatures like you.
Do you not tire of kissing the dust at his feet?
It would choke me, yet you dine upon it.
Bradwyr, you are nothing and worship one little better.
As for fleeing, yours were the men who wept as we pursued them,
Who pleaded for their lives as we approached.
Do not slander my soul's sister Cyfeilles,
For fear has no sovereignty in her heart.
You know she did not run.
By stealth was I taken from our camp.
She will come. Be fearful, Bradwyr.
Wring your feeble hands and utter a helpless cry!
Cyfeilles is coming, coming to cut your throat.
If I do not kill you, she will, repaying your lies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[Edited on 30/7/2004 by Neneithel]
|
|
elvenmaidofmirkwood |
|
VilyaTook |
|
Evenstar_of_my_people |
|
|
|
elvenmaidofmirkwood |
|
VilyaTook |
|
Neneithel |
|
|
|
Neneithel |
|
Lothiel |
|
Neneithel |
|
VilyaTook |
|
Lady~Eowyn |
|
Neneithel |
|
Nyérëven |
|