Second Battle of Moytura

    

Second Battle 

of Magh Tuireadh

Árchú is loose!

The standing stones recall his scent.

Spells have been cast, and secrets kept

Are now arrayed in serried ranks.  

Ravens prowl above the battle lines,

 Shapes shifting against a blazing sky.

Beneath their hungry gaze,

Broken ships lie burning on the shore.

Out of the smoke-thick mist,

Bright warriors rush to ruin or renown,

Borne on speeding chariots

At the dawn of Samhain.

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As the mighty armies meet,

Mórrígan whispers words of war

That fire the men of Ireland

To terrible wrath,

And helms of hammered bronze

Are smashed by wizard-swords

Amid the screams of bone-wracked bodies

And the shattering of shields.

◊

A corncrake’s call is silenced

By the uproar of the rout,

And women weep

As the remnants of their tribe retreat.

Danu smiles upon the Plain of Towers,

And the war-horns rejoice,

As the fairest of Fomor fall

Among the blood-flecked flowers.

by John Walter Taylor

© All rights reserved

14 Feb 2012; revised 8 Feb 2024.

Text of The Second Battle of Moytura

Oiche Bhealtaine

Oiche Bhealtaine

by John W Taylor

Have you ever stood in Wayland’s Wood, with the balefires burning bright,

As the old gods dance upon the wind, and sparks soar in the night?

Was the scent of Samhradh in the air on the eve of summer’s rise,

Rich with rowan and hawthorn flowers and life that never dies?

Could you hear the echo down the years of a druid’s distant prayer,

Or the hoofbeats of a horse that was Epona’s prancing mare?

Did the fairies of the May Day dawn fill their cups with morning dew,

And toast your health at Beltane’s feast in fields of meadow-rue?