Hidden Paths
When day has faded into night
And twilight's dew begins to fall
I walk the hidden paths of light
That lead me to the Watchers' hall.
I walk the hidden paths of light
That lead me far from the world of men,
Into the kindoms of delight
Where laughter reigns and care is sin.
Where nought but gaiety resides
With pleasure for her consort bold,
Where pain is lost and death besides
Forgotten memories of heartaches old.
I walk the hidden paths of light
In answer to the old gods' call,
I see their beacon shining bright
Far beyond the mountains tall.
But when the darkness fades at last
And the dusk gives way to dawn
My dreams, like restless winds go past,
And I find the hidden paths are gone.
And so I sit and await the night
For then I know they'll reappear,
The hidden paths of shining light
That lead me far from the world I fear.
And twilight's dew begins to fall
I walk the hidden paths of light
That lead me to the Watchers' hall.
I walk the hidden paths of light
That lead me far from the world of men,
Into the kindoms of delight
Where laughter reigns and care is sin.
Where nought but gaiety resides
With pleasure for her consort bold,
Where pain is lost and death besides
Forgotten memories of heartaches old.
I walk the hidden paths of light
In answer to the old gods' call,
I see their beacon shining bright
Far beyond the mountains tall.
But when the darkness fades at last
And the dusk gives way to dawn
My dreams, like restless winds go past,
And I find the hidden paths are gone.
And so I sit and await the night
For then I know they'll reappear,
The hidden paths of shining light
That lead me far from the world I fear.
Pipings
Where is the God of the Wood?
What has become of the Ancient One?
Has he fled from the forests and meadows
Where once he did walk alone?
Have we pushed him far from the regions
That we ourselves now claim?
Or does he dwell still in the misty woodlands
Amid the vines and spreading trees?
Often I have paused
To catch a few brief notes
Carried along by the wind
Across a distant valley
Often I have turned
To see who follows behind me
Only to find my own shadow
Grown tall against the setting sun.
The darkness comes and one by one
The stars are lit by an unseen hand
They are the same stars that once looked down
Upon a time when men were reverent
Toward a god they called their own
Now they look down upon a different age
When men are fearful of the one
Whom they betrayed so long ago.
The rocks are not fearful
They still pay tribute
To the one who spoke with them
In ages long past
They have not forgotten
Though now they are silent
Keeping the memory
Of times there were before.
What has become of the Ancient One?
Has he fled from the forests and meadows
Where once he did walk alone?
Have we pushed him far from the regions
That we ourselves now claim?
Or does he dwell still in the misty woodlands
Amid the vines and spreading trees?
Often I have paused
To catch a few brief notes
Carried along by the wind
Across a distant valley
Often I have turned
To see who follows behind me
Only to find my own shadow
Grown tall against the setting sun.
The darkness comes and one by one
The stars are lit by an unseen hand
They are the same stars that once looked down
Upon a time when men were reverent
Toward a god they called their own
Now they look down upon a different age
When men are fearful of the one
Whom they betrayed so long ago.
The rocks are not fearful
They still pay tribute
To the one who spoke with them
In ages long past
They have not forgotten
Though now they are silent
Keeping the memory
Of times there were before.
The Winter King
From the darkening wood he comes
Summoned by beat of unseen drums,
Cloven hoofed and antler crowned
He draws nigh unto their sound.
With spear in hand, he races forth
Across the wastelands of the north
Where woad-stained warriors shout his name
Along the way by which he came.
Throughout the land the cry is heard,
From clan to clan they spread the word,
The summer days are fading fast,
The Winter King has come at last.
Then, high atop the sacred hill,
The Druids employ their magic skill,
And from a spark is born a blaze
That shines amid the cromlech's maze.
Upon the barren heath they meet
To offer sacrifices sweet
With bay and pine the altars burn
In honor of the horned-god, Cerne.
Summoned by beat of unseen drums,
Cloven hoofed and antler crowned
He draws nigh unto their sound.
With spear in hand, he races forth
Across the wastelands of the north
Where woad-stained warriors shout his name
Along the way by which he came.
Throughout the land the cry is heard,
From clan to clan they spread the word,
The summer days are fading fast,
The Winter King has come at last.
Then, high atop the sacred hill,
The Druids employ their magic skill,
And from a spark is born a blaze
That shines amid the cromlech's maze.
Upon the barren heath they meet
To offer sacrifices sweet
With bay and pine the altars burn
In honor of the horned-god, Cerne.
She Walks Alone
She walks alone in golden meadows
Through morning sun and evening shadows,
Beneath the flowering orchard's shade
And in the hyacinth-scented glade.
Besides the water's edge she passes
Through matter deeds and viver grasses
And all along the sandy beaches
Where sea-brids climb the wind-swept reaches.
Across amber fields of autumn corn
She makes her way in te early morn,
And past the vinyard's entangled mazr
Where days are lost in an endless haze.
Before the darkening wood she goes
As leaves are stirred by a wind that blows
And by the alder shaded fountain
That lies beyond the distant mountain.
With footsteps soft and silent she sweeps
Over a kingdom that no one keeps;
Unseen she passes through the seasons,
Unknown are her myriad reasons.
Through morning sun and evening shadows,
Beneath the flowering orchard's shade
And in the hyacinth-scented glade.
Besides the water's edge she passes
Through matter deeds and viver grasses
And all along the sandy beaches
Where sea-brids climb the wind-swept reaches.
Across amber fields of autumn corn
She makes her way in te early morn,
And past the vinyard's entangled mazr
Where days are lost in an endless haze.
Before the darkening wood she goes
As leaves are stirred by a wind that blows
And by the alder shaded fountain
That lies beyond the distant mountain.
With footsteps soft and silent she sweeps
Over a kingdom that no one keeps;
Unseen she passes through the seasons,
Unknown are her myriad reasons.