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Hierophant
Submitted by Morydd on May 26th, 2021
HIEROPHANT
In Dunland folklore it is said The Huntsman gathers the fallen to live on in the spirits of his beasts. Songs of his promises are often sung at night to comfort children, but this version is sung by a witch.
❖
When weary sage with burdened age sleeps long beneath the snow,
Yours be the hawk that finds the clouds, to soar and shed his woe;
When warriors drop their broken blades and kneel into the mud,
Yours be the wolves to join the hunt, and taste a sweeter blood;
When winter's famine bites too deep, no ailing child to spare,
Your fox will teach her young to play, no more to know despair;
When fierce and mighty foes have torn a brenin from his throne,
Tomorrow be the boar to dash their blood upon the stone;
When feud, and lust, and madness lead a hunter to his snare,
Still that serpent finds your hall to feast and drink his share;
When fortune's fool has lost his war and dies with debts unpaid,
This hound has found new bones to chew and lingers in your shade;
When stolen bride by rival clan is stripped of joy, and slain,
Yours be her nest, her feathers white that never blood shall stain;
And when the night of wailing trades a woman for a birth,
Yours be the swallow free to dance as sunlight o'er the earth;
Each night some soul in pain shall pray to see the dawn in vain,
Yet shining eyes as starlight rise, to guard your fair domain;
For all that live and suffer beckoned to your house return,
Where never wine nor music end, where timeless fires burn.
But when the one who walks alone departs your sacred land,
When all the love the meek have lost is found within his hand,
When by a blade he calls rebirth he cuts his mother's heart,
And cannot grieve and cannot breathe and tears his world apart,
When thunder he commands shall shatter mountains under sea,
At last the kites will take him home, and this belongs to me.
Yours be the hawk that finds the clouds, to soar and shed his woe;
When warriors drop their broken blades and kneel into the mud,
Yours be the wolves to join the hunt, and taste a sweeter blood;
When winter's famine bites too deep, no ailing child to spare,
Your fox will teach her young to play, no more to know despair;
When fierce and mighty foes have torn a brenin from his throne,
Tomorrow be the boar to dash their blood upon the stone;
When feud, and lust, and madness lead a hunter to his snare,
Still that serpent finds your hall to feast and drink his share;
When fortune's fool has lost his war and dies with debts unpaid,
This hound has found new bones to chew and lingers in your shade;
When stolen bride by rival clan is stripped of joy, and slain,
Yours be her nest, her feathers white that never blood shall stain;
And when the night of wailing trades a woman for a birth,
Yours be the swallow free to dance as sunlight o'er the earth;
Each night some soul in pain shall pray to see the dawn in vain,
Yet shining eyes as starlight rise, to guard your fair domain;
For all that live and suffer beckoned to your house return,
Where never wine nor music end, where timeless fires burn.
But when the one who walks alone departs your sacred land,
When all the love the meek have lost is found within his hand,
When by a blade he calls rebirth he cuts his mother's heart,
And cannot grieve and cannot breathe and tears his world apart,
When thunder he commands shall shatter mountains under sea,
At last the kites will take him home, and this belongs to me.
❖
Source:
Poem & Art by me. (Syaven)
