The Old Ones Poem by David Lewis Paget

There are places in the country where
No people show their face,
There are warrens, there are spinneys
There are copses beyond trace,
There are thickets and some groves wherein
The old religion stays,
Left behind by Priests and Druids
To remind us of their days.

And a lurking spirit watches
Through the branches of the trees,
Since the time the Roman soldiers
Brought the Druids to their knees,
While the northern gods are hidden
In their days within the week,
Sulking through the groves and hedgerows
Where at night, you'll hear them speak.

When the wind is loosed in fury by
The witches of the north,
With the topmost branches swaying
You will hear them when they talk,
Though their speech is none too pretty
They might howl and weep or wail,
For the lost days of their glory
When they ruled this misty vale.

Then they'll rage across the country
Carried howling on the wind,
While Thor will raise his hammer
Bringing thunder to the glen,
He'll return with Tiw and Woden
To the spinneys and the copse,
To await the day that Odin
Burns the world with Ragnarok!

23 February 2013