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From George MacDonald’s stunning work PHANTASTES; A Faerie Romance for Men and Women
“Ich bin ein Theil des Theils, der anfangs alles war.”
GOETHE. — Mephistopheles in Faust.“I am a part of the part, which at first was the whole.”
My spirits rose as I went deeper; into the forest; but I could not regain my former elasticity of mind. I found cheerfulness to be like life itself — not to be created by any argument. Afterwards I learned, that the best way to manage some kinds of painfill thoughts, is to dare them to do their worst; to let them lie and gnaw at your heart till they are tired; and you find you still have a residue of life they cannot kill. So, better and worse, I went on, till I came to a little clearing in the forest. In the middle of this clearing stood a long, low hut, built with one end against a single tall cypress, which rose like a spire to the building. A vague misgiving crossed my mind when I saw it; but I must needs go closer, and look through a little half-open door, near the opposite end from the cypress. Window I saw none. On peeping in, and looking towards the further end, I saw a lamp burning, with a dim, reddish flame, and the head of a woman, bent downwards, as if reading by its light. I could see nothing more for a few moments. At length, as my eyes got used to the dimness of the place, I saw that the part of the rude building near me was used for household purposes; for several rough utensils lay here and there, and a bed stood in the corner. An irresistible attraction caused me to enter. The woman never raised her face, the upper part of which alone I could see distinctly; but, as soon as I stepped within the threshold, she began to read aloud, in a low and not altogether unpleasing voice, from an ancient little volume which she held open with one hand on the table upon which stood the lamp. What she read was something like this:
“So, then, as darkness had no beginning, neither will it ever have an end. So, then, is it eternal. The negation of aught else, is its affirmation. Where the light cannot come, there abideth the darkness. The light doth but hollow a mine out of the infinite extension of the darkness. And ever upon the steps of the light treadeth the darkness; yea, springeth in fountains and wells amidst it, from the secret channels of its mighty sea. Truly, man is but a passing flame, moving unquietly amid the surrounding rest of night; without which he yet could not be, and whereof he is in part compounded.”
As I drew nearer, and she read on, she moved a little to turn a leaf of the dark old volume, and I saw that her face was sallow and slightly forbidding. Her forehead was high, and her black eyes repressedly quiet. But she took no notice of me. This end of the cottage, if cottage it could be called, was destitute of furniture, except the table with the lamp, and the chair on which the woman sat. In one corner was a door, apparently of a cupboard in the wall, but which might lead to a room beyond. Still the irresistible desire which had made me enter the building urged me: I must open that door, and see what was beyond it. I approached, and laid my hand on the rude latch. Then the woman spoke, but without lifting her head or looking at me: “You had better not open that door.” This was uttered quite quietly; and she went on with her reading, partly in silence, partly aloud; but both modes seemed equally intended for herself alone. The prohibition, however, only increased my desire to see; and as she took no further notice, I gently opened the door to its full width, and looked in. At first, I saw nothing worthy of attention. It seemed a common closet, with shelves on each hand, on which stood various little necessaries for the humble uses of a cottage. In one corner stood one or two brooms, in another a hatchet and other common tools; showing that it was in use every hour of the day for household purposes. But, as I looked, I saw that there were no shelves at the back, and that an empty space went in further; its termination appearing to be a faintly glimmering wall or curtain, somewhat less, however, than the width and height of the doorway where I stood. But, as I continued looking, for a few seconds, towards this faintly luminous limit, my eyes came into true relation with their object. All at once, with such a shiver as when one is suddenly conscious of the presence of another in a room where he has, for hours, considered himself alone, I saw that the seemingly luminous extremity was a sky, as of night, beheld through the long perspective of a narrow, dark passage, through what, or built of what, I could not tell. As I gazed, I clearly discerned two or three stars glimmering faintly in the distant blue. But, suddenly, and as if it had been running fast from a far distance for this very point, and had turned the corner without abating its swiftness, a dark figure sped into and along the passage from the blue opening at the remote end. I started back and shuddered, but kept looking, for I could not help it. On and on it came, with a speedy approach but delayed arrival; till, at last, through the many gradations of approach, it seemed to come within the sphere of myself, rushed up to me, and passed me into the cottage. All I could tell of its appearance was, that it seemed to be a dark human figure. Its motion was entirely noiseless, and might be called a gliding, were it not that it appeared that of a runner, but with ghostly feet. I had moved back yet a little to let him pass me, and looked round after him instantly. I could not see him.
“Where is he?” I said, in some alarm, to the woman, who still sat reading.
“There, on the floor, behind you,” she said, pointing with her arm half-outstretched, but not lifting her eyes. I turned and looked, but saw nothing. Then with a feeling that there was yet something behind me, I looked round over my shoulder; and there, on the ground, lay a black shadow, the size of a man. It was so dark, that I could see it in the dim light of the lamp, which shone full upon it, apparently without thinning at all the intensity of its hue.
“I told you,” said the woman, “you had better not look into that closet.”
“What is it?” I said, with a growing sense of horror.
“It is only your shadow that has found you,” she replied. Everybody’s shadow is ranging up and down looking for him. I believe you call it by a different name in your world: yours has found you, as every person’s is almost certain to do who looks into that closet, especially after meeting one in the forest, whom I dare say you have met.”
Here, for the first time, she lifted her head, and looked full at me: her mouth was full of long, white, shining teeth; and I knew that I was in the house of the ogre. I could not speak, but turned and left the house, with the shadow at my heels. “A nice sort of valet to have,” I said to myself bitterly, as I stepped into the sunshine, and, looking over my shoulder, saw that it lay yet blacker in the full blaze of the sunlight. Indeed, only when I stood between it and the sun, was the blackness at all diminished. I was so bewildered — stunned — both by the event itself and its suddenness, that I could not at all realise to myself what it would be to have such a constant and strange attendance; but with a dim conviction that my present dislike would soon grow to loathing, I took my dreary way through the wood.And now an amazing rap version of the Tri Martolod..
And from the west there came a poet, a man of conscience and passion, a man rivalled only by Hugh MacDiarmid as a poet of the Scots, and by none as a poet of the Gaels. From the isle of Raasay…SORLEY MacLEAN:
An Roghainn
Choisich mi cuide ri mo thuigse
a-muigh ri taobh a’ chuain;
bha sinn còmhla ach bha ise
a’ fuireach tiotan bhuam.An sin thionndaidh i ag ràdha:
a bheil e fìor gun cual’
thu gu bheil do ghaol geal àlainn
a’ pòsadh tràth Diluain?Bhac mi ’n cridhe bha ’g èirigh
’nam bhroilleach reubte luath
is thubhairt mi: tha mi cinnteach;
carson bu bhreug e bhuam?Ciamar a smaoinichinn gun glacainn
an rionnag leugach òir,
gum beirinn oirre ’s gun cuirinn i
gu ciallach ’na mo phòc?Cha d’ ghabh mise bàs croinn-ceusaidh
an èiginn chruaidh na Spàinn
is ciamar sin bhiodh dùil agam
ri aon duais ùir an dàin?Cha do lean mi ach an t-slighe chrìon
bheag ìosal thioram thlàth,
is ciamar sin a choinnichinn
ri beithir-theine ghràidh?Ach nan robh ’n roghainn rithist dhomh
’s mi ’m sheasamh air an àird,
leumainn à neamh no iutharna
le spiorad ’s cridhe slàn.Translation: The Choice
I walked with my reason
out beside the sea.
We were together but it was
keeping a little distance from me.Then it turned saying:
is it true you heard
that your beautiful white love
is getting married early on Monday?I checked the heart that was rising
in my torn swift breast
and I said: most likely;
why should I lie about it?How should I think that I would grab
the radiant golden star,
that I would catch it and put it
prudently in my pocket?I did not take a cross’s death
in the hard extremity of Spain
and how then should I expect
the one new prize of fate?I followed only a way
that was small, mean, low, dry, lukewarm,
and how then should I meet
the thunderbolt of love?But if I had the choice again
and stood on that headland,
I would leap from heaven or hell
with a whole spirit and heart.Lucy and Drimlin
written by Teresa Thomas Bohannon,© 1974
Drimlin was rather a nice sort of dragon — as far as dragons go. He hardly ever went around scaring people, and he very seldom stampeded their cattle. But then Drimlin wasn’t exactly perfect either. You see, Drimlin liked treasures. And unfortunately…what Drimlin liked, Drimlin took. Yes. Drimlin was a bit of a thief. Drimlin slept all the day, and flew ’round all night looking for treasures to steal.Lucy was a leprechaun, born to laugh and dance, play pranks and sing. Lucy, however, was not quite perfect herself. Lucy, you see, was a bit of a dandy. She loved fine clothes, and she wore them with just a shade too much pride. She loved nothing better than to prance around wearing nothing but emerald green and a big bright smile.
Lucy lived in the hollow trunk of a huge old oak tree in the middle of a quiet valley. She stood barely taller than a unicorn’s knee, and like all leprechauns, Lucy had her very own pot of gold hidden at the end of her very own rainbow.
Now once upon a brightly moonlit night, as Drimlon soared high over Lucy’s valley, he caught the scent of leprechaun gold. The dragon became excited and he began to swoop over and around the valley in huge circles. As he swooped, his circles grew smaller and he flew lower and lower, but still without a rainbow to guide him, he couldn’t find Lucy’s cleverly hidden pot of gold. Finally he gave up his search and off he flew toward his cave near the top of the Emerald Mountain, high above the clouds.
The next morning Lucy awoke to find the world alight with a beautiful bright blue cloudless day. Dragon’s sleep by day, and rainbows come only after a rain and so Lucy dressed up in a fine emerald green outfit trimmed with a great showy froth of a green feather and proudly went to visit a friend who lived by the sea. Thus Lucy was far from home when the harsh northern winds began to blow up a storm and the clouds gathered over her valley and the rains came pouring down.
Dragon’s fly only at night, or so Lucy believed, but she believed wrong, For sometimes dragons fly in the sunlit skies and thus it was on this fateful day. Lucy wasn’t home to see Drimlin swoop down and ride the rainbow path to its glorious end in her valley. And neither did she see Drimlin dig up the pot of buried gold at the rainbow’s end and fly away with it.
But Leprechauns can read trouble on the air and Lucy sensed that something was wrong — ever so terribly wrong. She cut short her visit and hurried home. She wasn’t really certain why she was worried, but worried she was.
When Lucy arrived at her valley, she stopped short and stared at the glorious rainbow that pointed the way to the empty hole where her gold had been hidden.
“Faith and Begorroa,” she yelled. ‘Twas that nasty old dragon. For sure and he’s followed the rainbow and stolen me very own pot of gold!”
She felt like sitting down and having a nice long cry, but cry she didn’t. Leprechauns as a rule are quite a clever lot, and Lucy was no different. She immediately began to plot and plan — determined to get back her pot of gold and teach that nasty old dragon a lesson in the bargain.”
She knew she couldn’t fight the dragon. She wasn’t a coward, mind you. No true leprechaun is. But then dragons are terribly huge, and leprechauns are rather small. Besides which fighting isn’t very nice. Now leprechauns (as I said before) are clever, but dragons aren’t very smart. So Lucy knew that her best hope of rescuing her pot of gold lay in outwitting the dragon who’d stolen it.
That very day, she gathered her weapons — a brand new iron pot and her second-best bag of gold coins. Then going to see the weather witch, she explained her delimma and her chosen solution. The witch (having lost a treasure or two to the dragon herself) laughed outloud and agreed to help.
The rain clouds gathered quickly. Lucy barely had time to hurry home and grab her new pot and her second-best treasure before the rain began to fall. The first drop fell just as Lucy finished hiding and settled back to wait.
The witch provided a grand show of a storm with enough lightning flash and thunder claps to awaken any dragon around. And when the dragon was surely awake the sun came out and with the sun came a radiant rainbow that pointed the way to Lucy’s brand new very own pot of gold.
Drimlin spotted the rainbow and rode it to its end. He found the pot of gold and he stole it quick as a wink.
The dragon flew high, soaring above the clouds until he reached the loftiest peak of the highest mountain in all the land. He landed and waddled into dark mouth of a huge cave, where lo and behold treasure of every kind and description glimmered and glittered in every nook, cranny and corner — silver, gold, gems, jewels, crowns, septers, more treasure than the world has even seen or will ever again all piled and strewn about to make a dragon’s bed…. ‘Twas there the dragon lay his weary head and slept peacefilled rest of a blatant thief.
But when Drimlin’s breathing turned to the noisy snorting snores of a restless dragon an odd thing happened. His newest treasure began to quiver and shiver and shake. Golden coins began to spill over the pot’s sides and like a volcanic spew of green fire, Lucy popped from her hiding place beneath the gold.
She looked around at all the dragonly hoarde and she tsk tsked a bit at the dragon’s great greed. She smiled and placed a finger to the side of her nose, put one hand on top of her head, lifted one foot in the air and began to recite a magic spell.
Treasures you are
and treasures you’ll be,
but treasures heed well,
and listen to me.Here you now are,
but there you’ll soon be
for when the thief steals
twice what is stolen
will turn into trees.Ash and elm, cedar and oak
filling the valleys
forests and glades
giving life to the land
and death to the haze.Treasures you are
and treasures you’ll be.
but treasures heed well
and listen to me.Then, at just about the same time that Lucy finished reciting her spell, the dragon awoke from his nap. It didn’t take him more than a second to realize that something was wrong. The smell of magic hung heavy in the air, and Drimlin was quick to see the cause sitting just as brave and cocky as could be atop a pot of gold.
“HO HO!” he said in his rumbly, roary voice. “WHAT HAVE WE HERE — AN ITSY, BITSY TINY LITTLE SPROUT OF A LEPRECHAUN?”
“Tiny, I may well be, but never-the-less I’ve come to rescue my very own pot of gold, and for all your great dragonly size, you’ll not be stopping me” said Lucy, patting the pot of gold upon which she sat, “for the deed is already done.”
Drimlin laughed, “ALREADY DONE, LITTLE SPROUT. I THINK NOT, FOR YOU’RE STILL HERE AND YOUR TREASURE IS HERE, AND I’VE NO MIND TO SEE EITHER OF YOU GO.”
“Then I’d not be watching, if I were you,” said Lucy, as she magically winked her left eye and then her right, and then both together as she blinked herself home to her valley taking both her pots of gold with her and leaving behind only a whispy puff of bright green smoke, and one very angry dragon.
Drimlin gave out with a dragonly roar that shook the mountain, and he hit the air running and spread his great wings as he leapt from the mouth of the cave. “I’LL STEAL IT RIGHT BACK AGAIN!” he roared as he swooped down through the clouds and over the valley where Lucy waited. She didn’t even bother to hide the pots of gold, they were sitting out in the open waiting for him…and Dragon’s being rather stupid, Drimlin didn’t even stop to wonder why. He just swept up the pots and kept on going straight back to his cave.
Lucy cried for sheer joy when the beautiful trees began to appear, and she laughed outloud when Drimlin’s mighty roar of pure rage swept down from the mountain. “I wonder how long it will take him to catch on,” she said with a smile as she gazed at the beautiful trees “maybe, just maybe, we’ll be lucky and he never will.” she said with a good-natured smile as she blinked first one eye and then the other, and then both together.
The End?
The mega talented brothers Cunningham give it laldy..
@esmeralda wrote:
The mega talented brothers Cunningham give it laldy..
oh there is bugger all like a reel, to get me toe tapping hen.. i mind of primary 6 and 7 ,when Scots bairns are taught dance. well they WERE back in the 70’s. It was did away with ! then i went to college and it was the older students that could birl :)
We had college inspectors, we were warned they may visit ANYTIME.. they only came along when we were in a class of young prima donnas and young gay men ! me and a friend of mine, reeking o a lunchtime pint. Me in Liverpool football shorts !! and a vest top. and my college pal,in her old gym shorts circa St Michaels ( 1972) ,, the young lassies head to foot in trendy dancewear..and us :)
how we laughed !
The magnificent Capercaillie play us a reel Capercaillie: The Early Days
And from Sorley MacLean..
A Highland Woman
Hast Thou seen her, great Jew,
who art called the One Son of God?
Hast Thou seen on Thy way the like of her
labouring in the distant vineyard?The load of fruits on her back,
a bitter sweat on brow and cheek,
and the clay basin heavy on the back
of her bent poor wretched head.Thou hast not seen her, Son of the carpenter,
who art called the King of Glory,
among the rugged western shores
in the sweat of her food’s creel.This Spring and last Spring
and every twenty Springs from the beginning,
she has carried the cold seaweed
for her children’s food and the castle’s reward.And every twenty Autumns gone
she has lost the golden summer of her bloom,
and the Black Labour has ploughed the furrow
across the white smoothness of her forehead.And Thy gentle church has spoken
about the lost state of her miserable soul,
and the unremitting toil has lowered
her body to a black peace in a grave.And her time has gone like a black sludge
seeping through the thatch of a poor dwelling:
the hard Black Labour was her inheritance;
grey is her sleep tonight.This ballad is a variant of The Three Ravens which dates back to 1611 where it appears in Melismata. Musicall Phansies Fitting the Court, Cittie, and Countrey Humours by T. Ravenscroft.
Corbie is another word for raven or crow.THE TWA CORBIES
As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t’other say,
‘Where sall we gang and dine to-day,
Where sall we gang and dine to-day?’‘In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his honnd, and lady fair,
His hawk, his honnd, and lady fair.‘His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady ‘a ta’en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet,
We may mak our dinner sweet.‘Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare,
We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.’‘Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane;
Oer his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sail blaw for evennair,
The wind sail blaw for evennair.’
Battlefield Band – The Yew Tree
A mile frae Pentcaitland, on the road to the sea
Stands a yew tree a thousand years old
And the old women swear by the grey o’ their hair
That it knows what the future will hold
For the shadows of Scotland stand round it
‘Mid the kail and the corn and the kye
All the hopes and the fears of a thousand long years
Under the Lothian skyMy bonnie yew tree
Tell me what did you seeDid you look through the haze o’ the lang summer days
Tae the South and the far English border
A’ the bonnets o’ steel on Flodden’s far field
Did they march by your side in good order
Did you ask them the price o’ their glory
When you heard the great slaughter begin
For the dust o’ their bones would rise up from the stones
To bring tears to the eyes o’ the windMy bonnie yew tree
Tell me what did you seeNot once did you speak for the poor and the weak
When the moss-troopers lay in your shade
To count out the plunder and hide frae the thunder
And share out the spoils o’ their raid
But you saw the smiles o’ the gentry
And the laughter of lords at their gains
When the poor hunt the poor across mountain and moor
The rich man can keep them in chainsMy bonnie yew tree
Tell me what did you seeDid you no’ think tae tell when John Knox himsel’
Preached under your branches sae black
To the poor common folk who would lift up the yoke
O’ the bishops and priests frae their backs
But you knew the bargain he sold them
And freedom was only one part
For the price o’ their souls was a gospel sae cold
It would freeze up the joy in their heartsMy bonnie yew tree
Tell me what did you seeAnd I thought as I stood and laid hands on your wood
That it might be a kindness to fell you
One kiss o’ the axe and you’re freed frae the racks
O’ the sad bloody tales that men tell you
But a wee bird flew out from your branches
And sang out as never before
And the words o’ the song were a thousand years long
And to learn them’s a long thousand moreMy bonnie yew tree
Tell me what CAN you seeDown from the glen came the marching men
With their shields and their swords
To fight the fight they believed to be right
Overthrow the overlordsTo the town where there was plenty
They brought plunder, swords and flame
When they left the town was empty
Children would never play againFrom their graves I heard the fallen
Above the battle cry
By that bridge near the border
There were many more to dieThen onward over the mountain
And outward towards the sea
They had come to claim the emerald
Without it they could not leave
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