Here's wishing you all a fine St. Patrick's day!
Not being one for green beer, I'd rather toast with a true Celtic beverage, a fine honey mead. I will be imbibing a bit of well-aged and lightly-oaked traditional mead and will wish all GotMeaders good health!
To get in the spirit here's a little classic Irish poetry (there's plenty more there).
Not being one for green beer, I'd rather toast with a true Celtic beverage, a fine honey mead. I will be imbibing a bit of well-aged and lightly-oaked traditional mead and will wish all GotMeaders good health!
To get in the spirit here's a little classic Irish poetry (there's plenty more there).
THE FLOWER OF NiyT-BROWN MAIDS.
[From the seuenteenth century Irish.]
If thou wilt come with me to the County of Leitrim,
Flower of Nut-brown Maids —
Honey of bees and mead to the beaker's brim
I'll offer thee, Nut-brown Maid.
Where the pure air floats o'er the swinging boats of the
strand,
Under the white-topped wave that laves the edge of the
sand.
There without fear we will wander together, hand clasped
in hand,
Flower of Nut-brown Maids.
My heart never gave you liking or love,
Said the Flower of Nut-brown Maids ;
Though sweet are your words, there's black famine above,
Said the Flower of Nut-brown Maids ;
Will gentle words, feed me when need and grim hunger
come by ?
Better be free, than with thefe to the woodlands to fly ;
What gain to us both if together we famish and die ?
Wept the Flower of Nut-brown Maids.
I saw her coming towards me o'er the face of the mountain
Like a star glinmiering through the mist ;
In the field of furze where the slow cows were browsing,
In pledge of our love we kissed ;
In the bend of the hedge where the tall trees play with
the sun,
I wrote her the lines that should bind us for ever in one ;
Had you a right to deny me the dues I had won,
O Flower of Nut-brown Maids ?
My' grief and my torment that thou art not here with me now,
Flower of Nut-brown Maids ?
Alooe, all alone, it matters not where or how,
O Flower of Nut-brown Maids ;
On a slender bed, O little black head, strained close to thee,
Or a heap of hay, until break of day, it were one to me,
Laughiiig in gladness and glee together, with none to see,
My Flower of Nut-brown Maids.
Eleanor Hull.
[From the seuenteenth century Irish.]
If thou wilt come with me to the County of Leitrim,
Flower of Nut-brown Maids —
Honey of bees and mead to the beaker's brim
I'll offer thee, Nut-brown Maid.
Where the pure air floats o'er the swinging boats of the
strand,
Under the white-topped wave that laves the edge of the
sand.
There without fear we will wander together, hand clasped
in hand,
Flower of Nut-brown Maids.
My heart never gave you liking or love,
Said the Flower of Nut-brown Maids ;
Though sweet are your words, there's black famine above,
Said the Flower of Nut-brown Maids ;
Will gentle words, feed me when need and grim hunger
come by ?
Better be free, than with thefe to the woodlands to fly ;
What gain to us both if together we famish and die ?
Wept the Flower of Nut-brown Maids.
I saw her coming towards me o'er the face of the mountain
Like a star glinmiering through the mist ;
In the field of furze where the slow cows were browsing,
In pledge of our love we kissed ;
In the bend of the hedge where the tall trees play with
the sun,
I wrote her the lines that should bind us for ever in one ;
Had you a right to deny me the dues I had won,
O Flower of Nut-brown Maids ?
My' grief and my torment that thou art not here with me now,
Flower of Nut-brown Maids ?
Alooe, all alone, it matters not where or how,
O Flower of Nut-brown Maids ;
On a slender bed, O little black head, strained close to thee,
Or a heap of hay, until break of day, it were one to me,
Laughiiig in gladness and glee together, with none to see,
My Flower of Nut-brown Maids.
Eleanor Hull.
