Brew Of The Warlock - Poem by Franc Rodriguez
The yearly yule before the Forethule had thus betided,
upon one full moon and the Saxons had soon gathered.
The sith where the goddess Eoster was worshiped ever,
and the young maidens sought amain to wed an atheling.
The sundry tales of seidhr were kept alive in the elders,
and a time where the maidens bathed as they lathered.
And they frolicked with the winsome elves and dwarves,
as the clansmen sang and drunk mead with the stripling.
But soon the stillness of the blitheness was to be broken,
by the brew of a selfish fiend whose gryre he would breed.
And a warlock would come one day there amid the Saxons,
and with his harmful brew he would wield the kingdom.
Upon a gleesome morning as the kinsfolk brooked in frith,
a being would bond the wyrd of the clans out of his greed.
An iwis warlock with the guise of a daring atheling came,
before the maidens who he bewitched through swikdom.
The lovely maidens could not overcome his wicked spell,
as one by one they fell swiftly under his soothing galdor.
Amansed and doomed to roam the edges of firths and brine,
and to wail like a mournful widow among the bustling gales.
The tale speaks of a most wicked brew brought and drunk,
by the fairest maiden as she became a wraith lost in wuldor.
For a hundred years her shrill wails would agrise the thorps,
as clansmen were found hardened as stone amongst the dales.
The wicked warlock had sithence rixled the Saxons, Yutes,
Angles and Frisians, and the clans then sought their freedom.
But from amongst the fearful athelings that soon would bow,
before his might came a young heleth weaned by the clans.
Hence he would come to end the gryre of the loathed warlock,
and free at last the once lovely maiden from her dire thraldom.
He was born the son of a freeman but yet weaned by a wizard,
amongst the skill and craft of the Gods and their mighty hands.
It was said that he came from beyond the far brine and dales,
and was born with the brawn of Tiw and the hands of Thunor.
One day as he rode yond the slade of tors he raught the dales,
within the ease of the moorland there he found a nearby firth.
And as his horse began to drink from the bluish waters ahead,
he felt he stood amongst the mighty wight who lurked before.
Quickly he saw that his beloved horse suddenly became stone,
and he grabbed his sword as he heard the wails beyond the warth.
And slowly from amid the waters came the ugsome guise of a wraith,
as she stared into the bemuddled eyes of the heleth who stood in awe.
The once sparkling bluish waters of the brine were now wried in blood,
with her shadeless body as she flew into the wind that followed her.
Thenceforth she stopped as the warrior stood beguiled it thus seemed,
as she dwealde him oth his strength was waned there amongst the haw.
But yet the galdor in his mene that was around his neck would thwart,
her furtherance even more as she began to then shriek upon the wer.
And the brave warrior with the galdor of his mene blinded the wraith,
as she became herself hardened stone that bore the seeming of fright.
The galdor of the mighty mene thus ended the hundred year old curse,
as the once ugsome wraith had henceforth become a lovely woman afresh.
She spoke of the most harrowing curse that was brought upon her ere,
by an evil warlock who she was to wed on one wistful and gloomy night.
Then on his white steed anew he rode onto the kingdom of the warlock,
and with the galdor of his mene and sword he slew the wight so brash.
And the once beloved maiden had become then the queen of the Saxons,
as she rixled the Saxons with her swain who thus became the new king.
The eerie tale of the brew of the warlock was told to the striplings,
who durst forsooth to roam beyond the howling waters of the brine.
The mene of the high-heart hiel would forever dwell among the Saxons,
as the seidhr of the Gods was kept within the galdor of a token ring.
The brew of the Saxons would be seen amongst the mead they drunk,
within the horns of the elders they frolicked and with their teeming wine.
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