Breandan
05-01-2005, 01:42 AM
Her voice lilted across the assembled folk of the gathered tribes, a soft and gentle caress of sound. As she sang to the tune of the accompanying harp, the Halla was otherwise silent, as if every syllable of the ancient words she wove into music held a magic that would be broken if interrupted. An odd sight this- a boisterous and passionate warrior-poet people held entranced by the soft lyrics of a red haired woman. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she observed sights unseen by any other, her mind’s eye playing over the words she sang as images and concepts rather than a simple collection of phonetics. No simple formula of letters came from her perfect lips. The words of her native tongue flowed together like quicksilver, shaping around her tongue, dancing like laughing sprites across her teeth and lips, and flowed from her mouth as perfection.
All lights were turned off except those fueled by flame, for no modern convenience should disrupt this ancient ceremony. The harper plucked his tunes, shaping the vibrations of the instrument’s strings into a harmony of wondrous beauty. Tales of glory and romance, of wisdom and pride were held in the subtleties of each note, a tapestry of sound weaving history and myth into incorporeal form. His long, elegant fingers danced across the strings, seeming to glide across them as if caressing a shimmering pool of water rather than plucking. His eyes closed as he gave himself over to the music and the song. He needed no sheets of music, no guide nor prompting, for this melody, like all others, came from the depths of his soul.
All eyes were upon the duo as they crafted word and melody into a song of praise for the Gods and the Ancestors, for this celebration was as much in their honour as it was for the coming of summer. The words were unimportant- though eloquent, they were the usual praises to Flidais, Grian, and Bóann- it was the magic that the harmony filled the great hall with that bound and enchanted the tribes. The scholars and poets of the Eoganachta tribe put all thoughts from their mind, giving themselves to the emotions of the tune. The craftsmen of the Liatháin tribe closed their eyes and listened, misty-eyed and smiling, as the woman gave thanks to the Gods for the harvest of years past, and praise for the end of winter. Even the proud warriors of the Ciarraide tribe in their dark green uniforms with their stern faces, were sorely pressed to maintain their composure. Hardened hearts scarred by the horrors and pains of war melted at the touch of the notes, however, and even the elder airí, veterans of veterans, fought to keep their eyes dry. No eye of any Gael present was moistened in grief, however, but in awe at the beauty of the aural wonders that surrounded and touched each of them deeply.
The song came to a close, and the momentary still of the night was suddenly torn asunder with many cries of “Abú!” as the gathered folk rose to their feet and held tankards and mugs high in salute. The mistress of the song and her harper companion both blushed slightly, smiling as they bowed their heads in thanks for the praise. The formerly quiet Halla was now filled with laughter and many conversations. The ríthe, the chieftains of the three tribes, watched with obvious amusement as they talked quietly amongst themselves. Children scampered, mugs were filled, and the word quickly spread that the feast was about to begin.
Such is the way of Bealtaine.
Inspired by a lass who sings like an angel :-)
All lights were turned off except those fueled by flame, for no modern convenience should disrupt this ancient ceremony. The harper plucked his tunes, shaping the vibrations of the instrument’s strings into a harmony of wondrous beauty. Tales of glory and romance, of wisdom and pride were held in the subtleties of each note, a tapestry of sound weaving history and myth into incorporeal form. His long, elegant fingers danced across the strings, seeming to glide across them as if caressing a shimmering pool of water rather than plucking. His eyes closed as he gave himself over to the music and the song. He needed no sheets of music, no guide nor prompting, for this melody, like all others, came from the depths of his soul.
All eyes were upon the duo as they crafted word and melody into a song of praise for the Gods and the Ancestors, for this celebration was as much in their honour as it was for the coming of summer. The words were unimportant- though eloquent, they were the usual praises to Flidais, Grian, and Bóann- it was the magic that the harmony filled the great hall with that bound and enchanted the tribes. The scholars and poets of the Eoganachta tribe put all thoughts from their mind, giving themselves to the emotions of the tune. The craftsmen of the Liatháin tribe closed their eyes and listened, misty-eyed and smiling, as the woman gave thanks to the Gods for the harvest of years past, and praise for the end of winter. Even the proud warriors of the Ciarraide tribe in their dark green uniforms with their stern faces, were sorely pressed to maintain their composure. Hardened hearts scarred by the horrors and pains of war melted at the touch of the notes, however, and even the elder airí, veterans of veterans, fought to keep their eyes dry. No eye of any Gael present was moistened in grief, however, but in awe at the beauty of the aural wonders that surrounded and touched each of them deeply.
The song came to a close, and the momentary still of the night was suddenly torn asunder with many cries of “Abú!” as the gathered folk rose to their feet and held tankards and mugs high in salute. The mistress of the song and her harper companion both blushed slightly, smiling as they bowed their heads in thanks for the praise. The formerly quiet Halla was now filled with laughter and many conversations. The ríthe, the chieftains of the three tribes, watched with obvious amusement as they talked quietly amongst themselves. Children scampered, mugs were filled, and the word quickly spread that the feast was about to begin.
Such is the way of Bealtaine.
Inspired by a lass who sings like an angel :-)