Harp of Good God Dagda am I,
Telling this tale from times gone by;
Out of mists I rise once more
To bring this story of ancient lore.
Carved from the wood of oak so fine
Swirling designs along my spine,
Gold and gems my body adorn
A finer harp was never born.
I went with Dagda everywhere,
To firelit feasts, to battle's glare,
Beloved I was more than a wife
And I was there in peace or strife.
Trumpets blare and death-blades rattle
I never flinched from any battle
Proudly I bore my gory scars
Singing loud the anthems of war.
Then one bright day it came to pass
On Moytura's green and bloody grass
While fighting hard against the foe
The Dagda's harp was taken! Woe!
Theft of his most precious treasure
Angered him beyond all measure,
The Dagda cursed and sweat and swore
To reclaim me from the Fomor.
With his son Aengus he set out
So stealthily to go about
To the hall where evil Bres sat,
A worse foe he had never met.
In the torchlight's golden blaze
Through the smoke and dismal haze
He saw the sparkle of the prize
The gems that twinkled in my eyes.
Behind the wicked Bres' throne
Upon the wall, forlorn, alone,
I hung there midst the evil horde
Awaiting the call of my lord.
He strode boldly into the hall
And with his voice amazed them all
He called to me so strong and clear
He called to me and all did hear.
Come, you singer apple-sweet!
Come, harmony maker, come fleet!
Come by summer, come by winter,
Come, my music, come quick hinter!
To Dagda's hand I happy flew,
Nine men along the way I slew;
A silence fell upon the feast
When these three Noble Strains unleashed.
My strings sang out the strain of sorrow
And they wept for no tomorrow
Keening more with every beat
The goltrai gave their hearts defeat.
Then my strings sang out so merry
The geantrai, strain of mirth's own fairy,
All their cares dissolved in laughter
Never caring what comes after.
Last I lulled them all to sleep,
The suantrai made them dream so deep,
The strain of slumber, soft and slow,
Like babes they drowsed, never to know.
The Dagda, Aengus Og and I
Then crept away without a sigh,
Into the mists now I must sail
For these words end my winter's tale. |