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I call to Alauda of the gentle hand,
goddess bountiful and good, great-hearted one
whose gift it is to bring together the spirits
of land and humanity; you know the art
of harmony, the craft of give and take. Yours
is the river long and lithe, the passage of years,
the course of many lives; yours is the voice
of understanding, the will to serve the good.
We know you in larksong, in fields of bright grain.
in the floodplain and the ford; goddess of concord,
whose grace and glory long sustained the faithful
and the needy. Alauda, I honor your might.
Arnemetia of the holy grove, feet firm
upon the soft green sod, in the rustling of leaves,
in rainfall and in birdsong, we hear your call.
Lady of the waters, the searing springs,
the healthful drink, among the trees you were honored,
O goddess, and in your shrine of wood and stone
the faithful prayed, at need and in thanks, they sung
of your might and your glory, offering gifts
in gratitude, bright coins and figures carved in clay,
pouring out libations in your name. Arnemetia
who blesses the ailing and the sound, who hallows
the ground on which we stand, I praise and honor you.
Wise Garmangabis, subtle and profound, your art
it is to know what is, to know what will become;
of word and deed you see the source, of worth
and mettle you see the substance. Garmangabis,
weaver of our worlds, witness of our ways,
gently you twine those threads worn thin, laying weft to weft
with skill and care. Goddess of the wandering ones,
the dwellers on the riverbank, the wide-strewn seed,
granter of blessings abundant and needful,
your goodness and grace endure, well-rooted
in the soil, well-cherished in the souls of men.
Garmangabis, honored one, I offer you my praise.
I call out to Cuda from whom all fortune flows,
who blesses us with those small gifts that ease our lives,
that keep at bay the suffering of our being:
a little money in our pockets, food enough
within our larders, a strong back and an agile mind,
good friends to share our joys and our burdens,
small and simple things indeed and yet great treasures.
Cuda of the lovely hills, the pretty towns,
the woods and fields, yours are the happy lands,
the lands of the farmer and the fisherman,
the shopkeeper and the shepherd. The good life
is yours, O Cuda; I pray to you for favor.
I call to Setlocenia of the passing years,
who saw the stirring of the seas, the age of ice
and stone, who watched as nations rose and fell,
as men and women lived their lives and turned to dust.
Ancient one, you hold within the wisdom
of days long done, the tales of those long gone,
each season’s journey of beast and man, over
and over, again and again. Setlocenia,
lady of the sandy shore, the harbor rich and still,
yours are the deep-sunk fortress walls, the footprints
of those who found their fortune or lost their all;
O goddess great and wonderful, I honor you.
Arvolecia, mender of men, friend of the ailing
whose art it is to restore what is taken
by wound and disease, to strengthen the frail,
to soothe the suffering, to bring quick relief
to those who seek your blessing. Arvolecia
of the green rolling lands, of tranquil hill and vale,
the farmer and the shopkeeper, the townsman
and the laborer, all rest within your realm;
long gone is the forest, the refuge of the beasts,
long gone the men who made the wilds their home.
I call to Arvolecia of ancient might,
I offer you my praise; I pray for your favor.
I call to Braciaca of the kindly lands,
the hills of white lime, the river swift and broad;
blessed is your domain, O goddess, and blessed
are those who dwell within, O great-hearted one
whose favor is granted freely and fairly.
The dead in their mounds rest under your ground,
gifted and buried beneath the thick-sown sod,
their wisdom and their bond preserved throughout the years.
The joys in life are likewise in your realm, O goddess;
good ale is yours, the sweet malt and the bitter hop,
the pleasure of genial company, of fond friends
and merry times. For all your gifts I thank you!
Harimella, lady of ridge and water,
of lands worth holding, of a people of might
and daring, I call to you. O Harimella,
whose gifts of battle-wisdom and bravery
sustain men and women in desperate times,
whose voice it is that stirs the fearful to action,
whose guidance makes allies of enemies,
gives voice to the righteous and the just. Goddess,
your altar stood, so long ago, by the winding wall,
near the ragged bluff, your name–your fame–secured by stone.
Harimella who knows the good of forethought,
the good of a bold heart, I praise and honor you.
To Boudihillia and Friagabis,
to Fimmilena and Beda: I call to you,
O goddesses. You who know the borderland,
who know the true strength of stone, who know the might
of time, the victory of perseverance,
you know as well the worth of an open hand
and an honorable heart. In times long gone
a temple stood among the works of war;
here did those who put their trust in you make offerings,
here did they pray, in need and despair, for your favor.
Great ones, goddesses most honored, most noble,
I praise you in all your names, O Alaisiagae.
I call to Verbeia of the flowing river
and the scalding spring, of the heathery moor
and the spiraled stone. Goddess of the winding Wharfe,
lady of the serpents, lady of the rose,
enrobed in fine linen, barefoot on the wet sod,
we know you in the storm, when the rain comes
cold as ice, sharp as thorns; in the cleansing flood
we see your might, in the soggy ground we see
your foresight. Ever moving, ever working
in the world, ever constant yet ever changing,
resilient one who holds in hand the land:
Verbeia, enduring and unending, I praise you.
Fieldstones 