Tag: ireland
Beyond Disney: Why the bloodcurdling fairies of old were to be seriously feared
NOTE: Thank you to The Independent for the article!
Beyond Disney: Why the bloodcurdling fairies of old were to be seriously feared:
The creatures of British folklore are not tutu-clad beings, but mischievous bed-hopping folk living in a dangerous parallel world
Irish Barmbrack for Halloween
A recipe for a Irish Barmbrack. Enjoy.
Halloween Baking
Halloween was always one of my favorite times of the year growing up in Ireland, and it should come as no surprise that my best memories are related to home baking and fun traditions shared around the dinner table. My mother would always hide hidden charms in our favorite Halloween baked goods as a tradition, and amongst those treats she always included a wee home made BarmBrack loaf and an apple tart.
Barmbrack is a traditional warm and spicy fruit loaf that is absolutely delicious hot from the oven with loads of creamy Irish butter – and of course, apple tart is an apple pie here in America! So now you know!
So, here is it to share – my family recipe that’s enjoyed in Ireland this time of year.
This name “brack” comes from the Irish word “breac” meaning speckled (the speckles are the fruits and candied…
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Irish folklife expert says Halloween traditions began in Ireland
NOTE: Thank you to Catholic Philly for the article!
Irish folklife expert says Halloween traditions began in Ireland
THE STOLEN CHILD
NOTE: First published December 1886 in the Irish Monthly.
THE STOLEN CHILD
by
William Butler Yeats
(1865 – 1939)
WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you
can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you
can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,.
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To to waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For to world’s more full of weeping than you
can understand.
Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.
NOTE: Thanks to The Heritage Council and HeritageMaps.ie for the article!
The Heritage Council and HeritageMaps.ie are pleased to announce the release of their latest dataset mapping Ireland’s mysterious Sheela-na-Gigs.
Song of Amergin
| Amergin, Bard of the Milesians, lays claim to the Land of Ireland
I am a stag: of seven tines, I am a flood: across a plain, I am a wind: on a deep lake, I am a tear: the Sun lets fall, I am a hawk: above the cliff, I am a thorn: beneath the nail, I am a wonder: among flowers, I am a wizard: who but I Sets the cool head aflame with smoke? ——- I am a spear: that roars for blood, I am a salmon: in a pool, I am a lure: from paradise, I am a hill: where poets walk, I am a boar: ruthless and red, I am a breaker: threatening doom, I am a tide: that drags to death, I am an infant: who but I Peeps from the unhewn dolmen, arch? ——- I am the womb: of every holt, I am the blaze: on every hill, I am the queen: of every hive, I am the shield: for every head, I am the tomb: of every hope. |
The Morrigan’s Prophecy
NOTE: I have included this as I think it should be entered into your Crane Book of Wisdom.
https://inanna.virtualave.net/morriganpro.html
Lugh’s Crane Magic
Havoc its strain of battles shared death there.
In this a battle after foreigners broke (our) shared settlement
by destruction of it. They will be defeated by hosts.
O Fairy-hosts, land of men on guard,
birds of prey rain down (on them), men without choice.
Be hindered (the) foreigners. Another (the other) company fears,
another company listens, they are very terribly in torment,
dark (sad) men (are they). Roaring brightly nine-fold* are we!
Hurrah and Woe! Left-ward*! O you my beautiful ones!
Sacred will be the sustenance after cloud and flowers
through its powerful skills of wizards.
My battle will not dwindle until (its) end.
Not cowardly my request with (their) encountering me
with a land of rushes laid waste by fire
death’s form established, death on us given birth.
Before (the presence of) the Sídhe with each of them,
before Ogma I satisfy,
before the sky and the earth and the sea*,
before the sun and the moon and the stars*.
O Band of warriors my band here to you
My hosts here of great hosts sea-full
(of) mighty sea-spray (boiling) smelted golden powerful,
conceived, may it be sought upon the field of battle.
Joint death its strain. Havoc its strain.”
THE INSTRUCTIONS OF THE KING
This is the site that I copied “The Counsels of Cormac” from it has links to other stories about Cormac to be perused if interested.
The Song of Wandering Aengus
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
William Butler Yeats
The Crane Book of Wisdom 