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I offer words of praise to Mathonwy, O great one
whose tales have been lost to the years, whose might
and wisdom we know through your son and heir, far-famed
Math who carried your name in love and pride,
who ruled his realm with judgment and courage, who held
the vast powers of magic in hand. Mathonwy,
we know you in the shadow you cast, in the fine
and noble spirit you rouse within your kin,
within the people of your lands; we know you
in the soft sweet song still held within your name.
Mathonwy, gracious and gentle one, who knows
the strength and worth of men, I honor you.
I call to wise and shining Nudd, son of noble Don
and Beli Mawr the bright, father of Gwyn and Edern
who served so well the court of the far-famed king.
Nudd of the tangled tales, the confoundment
of the years, of tongues that stumble, words gone wrong,
Nudd of the many faces and the many names,
we see you reflected in the rippled pool,
we see you in shadow, we see you in the fog,
in seamist and in smoke. I call to you, O god,
granter of blessings, upholder of tribe and kin,
for all we know of you, for all we are with you,
I thank you for your many gifts, I praise your name.
(I do realize that I’ve just recently written a prayer to Lludd; as a very hard polytheist, my thoughts on this are “better safe than sorry.”)
I offer my praise to Gwyn, son of Nudd,
whose tales have been told for many long years,
whose stories have shifted–have lost and gained
in word and in meaning–but cast a still-familiar
shadow, keep their beauty, keep their might. Gwyn
of the brave and gallant ways, Gwyn of passions
fierce and full, you carried off the maiden fair
and battle for her each new May Day; you gather
the souls of the valiant and lead the wild hounds
on a winter’s night; you hold the throne of the fairy
realm. Bright of aspect, dark of guise, Gwyn of the worlds
about us and beyond, I honor you, O god.
Menmanhia, goddess merciful and good,
goddess who knows of men and women, knows our minds,
our hearts, our dreams and our desires, I call to you.
Menmanhia, far-roaming one, many are the lands
in which your name was spoken, many were those
who carried their love and loyalty wherever
they set their feet. Goddess, you hold our love and faith,
you earn our trust and our devotion. Menmanhia
who answers prayers, you hear us when we cry out
in the night, you give us solace when we weep;
you take joy in our joys, you take pride in our deeds,
you bless us in all ways. Goddess, I honor you!
To Hurstaerga, great and generous goddess,
I offer words of praise. Yours are the people
of the kind-hearted isle, of a land well bounded
by waters clear and cold; yours are the orchards,
the heavy-laden trees, abundant with sweet fruit;
you are the granter of fortune and plenty,
your blessings rain down on the folk of your lands.
Once, Hurstaerga, you were well known, your name carved
into sturdy stone, shining white and fair; your fame
has dwindled, your might only grown, as your gifts
and your goodness proclaim. Hurstaerga who answers
prayers, I honor you in all your grace and glory.
I call to gracious Travalaeha, great lady
of the old city, the place of many peoples,
many names, the land so fair and bountiful,
so vital and so fine, that all who saw its beauty
desired it for themselves. Travalaeha, best
and most pleasing of goddesses, most charming
and most mighty one, yours is the power
of persuasion, yours are the words that compel
the heart, the wisdom that proves your words. Goddess,
friend of the the merchant and the guildswoman,
the craftsman and the soldier, you care for your own
with goodness and mercy; I praise and honor you.
Lludd of the silver hand, of tales and names long told,
long twisted round, turned this way and that, Lludd who rules
the flourishing isle, lord of the western gate,
I call to you. Child of blessed Don, mother
of gods, current of the river; child of Beli Mawr,
bright beloved whose blood flows in the veins of kings;
brother of wise Llefelys and many spirits
great and glorious, yours is the tale of the three plagues,
the three things hidden and then revealed, O catcher
of fish, you are the might of the mists, the builder
of castle keep and wall. O Lludd of the waters
and the ancient words, I praise and honor you.
I call to fair Creiddylad, daughter of Lludd
of the silver hand, loveliest maid in all the isles,
gentlest and most noble woman, comely
of form, graceful of bearing, charming of manner,
shining bright in wisdom and virtue. Creiddylad,
your beauty and your goodness drew to you
the love of worthy men, your lot it was to bear
the strife sown by their rivalry. You know the cost
of jealousy, the sorrow and the suffering,
you know the burden of a pretty face
and a fate unchosen, you know the need
of a living world; goddess, I honor your calling.
I offer my praise to Afallach; I call to you,
O son of the father, father of the mother,
lord of the orchard and the apple red and sweet,
lord of the fortunate isle that men call Avalon.
Yours is the far-famed tor, the hill once bound by the sea;
yours are the tales of the bright new king, his company
dashing and doomed; Afallach, yours is the legend
and the legacy, the mystery and the might.
You are the last best friend of man, you are our guide
and guardian upon our final flight; Afallach
of the fruited tree, god of the endless harvest
and the life lived after life, I honor you.
To Rigani, wise of spirit, noble of heart,
I offer my praise. Gentle goddess, great queen
whose feet are rooted in the sovereign earth,
whose hands reach out into the dark, among the stars,
yours is the heart of fire, the temple amid
the wisps, yours the lands above the fragile shell,
above the living stone. Beautiful Rigani,
gracious and good, you are the glory of the night,
the secret of existence, you are the blossom
and the bloom, the scent before the storm. Rigani
who stands between order and chaos, who rules
each realm, I call your name, I honor your works.
Fieldstones 