I speak to the land and the land sings to me;
Of bushels of barley and wild oat seed.
I work with the soil
And in all weather toil.
At harvest Her rites to perform,
So the Sun King will keep us all warm.

My plow to the service of Clan and to Ri,
I’m a Freeborn Son of the Gael.
 

I speak to the iron and the iron sings to me;
Of horseshoes and hammers and the weapons wee need.
I work with the forge
And it’s made my arms large.
For craft and for skill I’m renown,
Just follow the ringing iron sound.

My tools to the service of Clan and to Ri,
I’m a Smith and a Son of the Gael.
 

I speak to the gold and the gold sings to me;
Of twining of tendrils sprung forth like a weed.
I work with the jewel
And carving it’s cruel.
At Fair they will wear my hard work
In the silver bright form of a torc.

My kiln to the service of Clan and to Ri,
I’m a Craftsman and Son of the Gael.
 

I speak to the sword and the sword sings to me;
Of honor and horror and the blood they will bleed.
I call up the wild
And it has me beguiled.
It’s war rage and courage I wear,
Look into my eyes if you dare.

My arms to the service of Clan and to Ri,
I’m a Warrior Son of the Gael.
 

I speak to the Stones and the Stones scream to me;
Of foemen and farmers and the armies I’ll lead.
I rule by Their will
And it’s good or it’s ill.
So the Gods will decide which will be
And the Madman will see what’s for me.

My blood to the service of Clan and the Tree,
I’m a King and a Son of the Gael.
 

I speak to the Wood and the Wood sings to me;
Of Salmon and Samhain and the Healing Gold Mead.
I learn from the Earth
And the Sky since rebirth.
I teach from the wisdom I gain
And call down fair weather or rain.

My ken to the service of Clan and to Ri,
I’m a Draoi (Dree) and a Son of the Gael.
 

I speak to the Stars and the Stars sing to me;
Of the future and Fey Folk and the Red Eared White Steed.
I weave works with words
And they’re strong as steel swords.
My Harp’s crystal tones craft the spell,
As I sing of the Salmon and Well.

My voice to the service of Clan history,
I’m a Bard and a Son of the Gael.
 

Minhanif and Daindella
by Padráig Donn Mc Mathúna A.S. XXVII
rewritten A.S. XXXIII

The love ‘tween Minhanif and Daindella was well known,
The Dagda’s dark-eyed daughter and a Bard of famed renown.
Still a Fomor bastard sought Her hand, so came challenge from the knave
That would prove Minhanif’s downfall and his pathway to the grave.

The meadow was the meeting place, below the sacred stones,
Just as the full and pale moon rose; the shade of whitened bones.
Minhanif, brave and boldly stood to face that Fomor dog
And was slain by Fomor archers that had hidden in the fog.

Minhanif lay there dying, as coldly crept the wizard’s fog.

But, as he fell and met the earth the stones began to quake;
Daindella knew Her love lay slain and died for honor’s sake.
So to his side She flew like fire then called out to Her sire
Oh, Dagda great, bring back my love, my heart and fond desire.

“Oh, daughter fair,” the answer came, “this was to be his Dán.”
“I’ve not the power to bring him back across the great void’s span.”
“Then Father will you grant one wish ere sun returns this morn’
Unite me with my love, my dear, that I may never mourn.”

“My daughter, dear, I’ll grant your wish so you shall never mourn.”

So then arose Daindella with dreadful purpose in Her heart.
The turf and sacred stones sung out their knowledge to impart.
Then to the Fomor fortress the fiery Goddess flew enraged,
She cornered there the Fomor filth and righteous war She waged

When She’d slaughtered ev’ry one within, Her victory cry did sound.
She spoke the words of power and burned their fortress to the ground.
Then Lugh set fire unto the sky, so came She from above,
To hold and kiss with salty tears Her one and own true love.

Through tears, their songs to him She sang, Her one and only love.

Her wish fulfilled the lovers sit within that meadow gold.
Her body changed to cold green stone Her love, within, to hold.
From flesh to stone Daindella changed, but ne’er is She alone.
For then as greenest marble She became the tear shaped stone.
 

Long days have passed and I came by the place where they still rest.
A tear I shed in seeing them, then homeward turned I west.
The wind died down, I swear I heard a song in muted tone,
The whispers of Daindella, the tear shaped marble stone.

To Minhanif still She sings Her songs, the tear shaped marble stone.
 

Unquiet Dreams and Starlight
by Padráic Stephens

Where rugged mountains caress the lake with mystic woods,
There an isle harbors careless herons, who’s squawking broods
Waken the water rats; hid we there our Dannan vats
Filled with sweet blackberries and stolen ripened cherries.
Soft we call, child of man, come with us to summer lands;
For the world’s full of sorrow you needn’t understand.

Where sands shimmer in moonlight, by far Rosses we tread.
There, we weave ancient reels, bright glances shared; the moon’s fled.
Leaping, chasing bubbles; the mortal world be-troubled.
Light hearts through darkness deep; anxiously the mortals sleep.
Soft we call, child of man, come with us to summer lands;
For the world’s full of sorrow you needn’t understand.

Streams wayward wander down from Glen-Car’s green brooding hills.
Gleaming trout in small pools, some with restless dreams we fill;
Whilst leaning from lush ferns out o’er brooks that gush and yearn;
Questing onward to sea.  So, still, onward travel we.
Soft we call, child of man, come with us to summer lands;
For the world’s full of sorrow you needn’t understand.

Tir na Og calling softly brings the solemn-eyed child.
“Hear not the calves cry early on verdant hillocks wild.
Nor cauldron on the hearth, simmer sweetly sounds of mirth,
Nor watch brown mouse eyes glint, peeking through the oak sack’s rent.”
Soft we sing, child of man, stay with us in summer lands.
For the world’s full of sorrow you needn’t understand.

© 1997 Padráic Stephens