[Poem] THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN (BOOK 2) - A further odyssey exploring enchanted lands and mortal yearnings

Oisin
“Now, man of croziers, shadows called our names
And then we struck on a grey sea’s foaming crest;
We saw diminish the shore’s green-wooded frames,
The thronging men, the cattle in sweet rest;
Down sank the isle, and fainter, fainter still
The sob of waves upon its furthest hill.
I turned, and Niamh’s hair was on the breeze,
Her eyes were full of laughter from the skies;
We moved as though the gods, through clouded seas,
Bore us in triumph—silence held our cries.
We saw, at whiles, strange creatures rise and pass—
Drowned kings in weeds, huge shapes of birthless mass.

On, on, until a dusky land arose
With peaks that touched a canopy of fire,
And round the slopes a glooming forest grows,
Where boughs and leaves were wrought of gold entire.
‘Here let us pause,’ said Niamh, ‘a while to see
What wonders wait in leaf or living tree.’
So there we moored upon a sandy strand,
The waves still beating with a muffled roar.
We heard slow flutes drift outward from the land
That seemed to sing a secret, hidden lore;
And faint and hushed, the forest seemed to glow,
As though an inward sun still burned below.

Through glimmering glades we wandered, hand in hand,
Where every trunk was flecked with golden veins,
And blossoms fell, as though at love’s command,
Twirling to music like enchanted rains.
In thickened hush, we spied a temple’s rise—
Its walls shone starry, sculpted in strange dyes.
High on each threshold stood a brazen wing,
Half-bird, half-god, that glared with gemlike eyes;
And from inside we heard a chanting ring—
A mortal wail that soared to faery cries.
‘Take heed,’ she said, ‘our steps must find their grace
Lest powers long sleeping stare upon your face.’

Then lightly Niamh raised her glittering spear,
Its tip a dazzling silver, faintly blue;
A sign she drew in air, that none might hear
The footfall of our steps, though passing through.
Thus on we fared into that temple’s gloom,
Where pillars towered like a giant’s tomb.
Upon an altar carved of polished stone,
A captive maiden lay in garlands dressed;
Some priestly shapes, with masks of hammered bone,
Prepared their rites in sorrowful unrest.
At once, with clarion voice, the faery queen
Cried, ‘Halt! Your savage rite shall not be seen!’

Like hawks that startle at a clarion call,
Those priests turned round in frantic dread and awe;
Their chanting died, their torches seemed to fall,
As if a hidden wind disturbed each jaw.
In that swift moment, Niamh’s shining blade
Cut loose the maid from out her fettered shade.
We fled, the maiden trembling in her fear,
Yet light and silent were we as the breeze;
Behind, a rising din of menace near
Told how the priests pursued through haunted trees.
But soon we reached the shore’s cold strand once more,
And leapt aboard the steed that rose from lore.

The captive maid we bore was pale and faint,
Her eyes of mortal dusk, her cheek dew-wet;
Yet from her lips came forth a raptured plaint,
For joy, to see that cruel dominion set
Away from her, as waves began to foam:
‘What land is this?’ said she, ‘where mariners roam?’
Then Niamh answered, ‘Hush, dear mortal child,
You have been snatched from rites too dark to name;
Now rest upon the winds and waters wild,
And trust in Faery’s might to break all shame.’
So onward soared our hooves above the main,
And left those savage priests to curse in vain.

At last we saw a realm of trembling lights,
Its towers half-lost in rose and emerald glow;
Faint music drifted through the softened nights,
And silvered rivers through the meadows flow.
There men and women, crowned with woven leaves,
Danced in a circle ’neath the starlit eaves.
With trembling wonder gazed the rescued maid—
She asked if ever mortal foot had trod
Such blissful lawns where sorrow seemed to fade,
Where all was peace beneath a shining god.
I said to Niamh, ‘Is this some restful land,
Far from the wars that echo in Banba’s strand?’

She laughed, and said, ‘This realm is but a gate
That opens to a thousand Faery isles;
Beyond each door another changing state
Beckons with wonders, welcomes us with smiles.
Yet do we linger here to place this maid
In kindly care till mortal memories fade.’
So with her hand she led the girl aside,
Where gentle arms received that weary head.
Upon the grass we parted from our guide—
Soft lullabies were sung, the tear was shed;
And in the glimmer of that blissful tower
The child found solace for her darkest hour.

Then soared we on again, unbound by space,
With but our thoughts to steer the gallant steed;
From isle to isle we fared in breathless pace,
Each shore revealing wonders for our need.
Some glowed with flowers that turned to living gems,
Some circled waterfalls in silver hems.
A thousand years, it seemed, we roamed at will,
Though in my heart I felt no sense of time;
Each feast was dawn, each twilight lingered still,
As though the hours revolved in Faery rhyme.
But often in my dreams the distant call
Of mortal clarions sounded faint yet tall.

And so it was, O sainted man, I moved
From realm to realm, from joy to joyous feast;
Each land more wondrous than the last I proved,
But something drew me, restless in the least,
Toward Banba’s fields of mortal heritage,
Where once I’d known the poet’s golden age.
Though Niamh’s eyes would sparkle in her care,
She guessed what longing burned behind my gaze.
I yearned to see the Fenians gather there,
To hear once more their battle songs and praise.
Yet in Book I you heard what came to be—
How time had stolen all once dear to me.

Now, priest, you marvel at my phantom state
And say my wanderings shaped some demon’s lie.
But by the swirling seas I charge you: Fate
No demon wove, but faery’s lullaby.
In every isle, in every star-touched wave,
I found a living dream none else can save.
And thus I speak these tidings not to snare
The soul of man into a Faery gloom,
But to exalt the heart with wonders fair,
To show that doom may break, and daisies bloom.
Man’s chains are hammered by his narrow lore—
I soared beyond, to find new truths in store.

S. Patrick
“Blasphemous talk! Oisin, your words betray
The mortal soul that can be saved with grace.
What good are glimpses of these isles so fey
When men must toil to reach a holier place?
Beware the powers that roam without God’s light,
That weave illusions in the lonely night.”

Oisin
“Enough! I know the pulses of my heart,
That soared with Niamh, soared in realms of gold.
Would all men raise their gaze from sorrow’s art
To see some dream beyond the drab and cold?
Yet if your prayers restore my father’s land
And those dear faces of the Fenian band,
Then pray indeed. But as for me, I keep
A memory of haunted seas and flame,
Of shining fields where none are bound to weep,
And love is uttered not in fear or shame.
The bells you ring can never hush my song—
I roamed with gods and found where I belong.”

(Here ends Book II of “The Wanderings of Oisin.”)