From J R R Tolkien's book "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" the song known as the Song of Durin sang by Gimli as the Fellowship of the Ring traveled through Moria. Gimli stood up and sang this song when recalling the splendour of Dwarrowdelf. Sam Gamgee liked the song so much he wanted to learn it. His son Christopher comments in the introduction in his father's Book of Lost Tales Part One on   Tolkien's awareness of his readers struggle with the Silmarillion compared to the Lord of the Rings. One reason was that the Silmarillion would lack the perceived depth of the LOTR for the Silmarillion served to be just that. It was the backdrop and "the unattainable vistas" to the the Lord of the Rings. To expect the Silmarillion to be more would be as Tolkien said "to destroy the magic". 

Tolkien comments in a letter ""Part of the attraction of the Lord of the Rings is, I think, due to the glimpses of a large history in the background: an attraction like that of viewing far off an unvisited island, or seeing the towers of a distant city gleaming in a sunlit mist. To go there is to destroy the magic, unless new unattainable vistas are again revealed."

It were these untold stories and histories that continues to give  "Durin's Song" such magic as it alludes to the more ancient world of the Silmarillion. 

The Song of Durin (A Reading)

Wonderful artwork by Johan Egerkrans
Connect: https://www.facebook.com/johanegerkranspublic
Find his art here: http://johan-egerkrans.blogspot.se/

Poem 1 of my poetic rendering of the Scottish Legend of the Water Kelpie. A Kelpie in the Celtic mythology of Scotland was originally a name given to a ‘Water Horse’. This mythical creature could be found in the lochs and rivers of Scotland and also has a place in Irish folklore.

---Down By Loch Ness Lake (Poem 1)---

To all the little hearts that I now address
Strange things once happened along Loch Ness
It's waters were dark, deep and some say hostile
Lived a family with a their young son, Kyle

All the food for the family to be found
Were the crops they raised up from the ground
They farmed the land 'tween hill and moor
Between their cottage and Loch Ness shore

Kyle helped his family for eleven years
As they farmed their croft through trial and tears
At the beginning of another year of soil to turn
The mother spoke to the father of her concern

"Early again, must you rise my dear.
To plough the fields another year.
With plough and back ever steady.
Early again, to make the fields ready."

The father replied, "I am getting too old
Too weak the plow to drag and hold 
And there is no other to help among
For our sweet Kyle, he is too young."

Mother replied, "O Dear! O Dear!
Harvest time will soon be drawing near!
If we do not plough with crops to grow,
In winter, starvation we will soon know!"

The father said, "Yes, my love. I do agree.
"And...I've seen a fine black stallion roaming free.
Down by the Loch at night's full swoon
I've seen it galloping under the silver moon."

He added, "If I....that horse would allow.
I could make him pull our plough.
Then with bridle and bit to lead.
Our fields to harvest with this fine steed."

"Oh No!" The mother said with fright.
Avoid that beast, if ever in sight!
There are spirits that roam Loch Ness lake.
If you dare go near, then your life's at stake."

"That horse, that beast is not your friend!
That...Water-Kelpie!!!...will be your end.
Many unwary folk will it drowned
And they say...never again...to be seen or found."...(-bc)

Down By Loch Ness Lake (Poem 1)

Wonderful artwork by Johan Egerkrans
Connect: https://www.facebook.com/johanegerkranspublic
Find his art here: http://johan-egerkrans.blogspot.se/

Poem 2 of my poetic rendering of the Scottish Legend of the Water Kelpie. A Kelpie in the Celtic mythology of Scotland was originally a name given to a ‘Water Horse’. This mythical creature could be found in the lochs and rivers of Scotland and also has a place in Irish folklore.

---In The Light of the Silver Moon---

Father turned to mother, " Nonsense Dear!
There is no reason to fret or fear.
I will rope that stallion to submit
To our plough with bridle and bit."

"I will wrap the rope around its side
With hand to its mane that I will guide
Guiding the stallion every steady
By nightfall, will the fields be ready."

"Dear husband, I do question your course?
For that is...no ordinary horse.
If that Kelpie you dare to control,
A iron bridle is needed to accomplish your goal!"

"A Kelpie... is magical and ever quick,
Whomever it touches will it forever stick!
If any finger with the Kelpie to clasp?
You will forever be within its grasp!"

"Husband! Come back and do not go!
The stories no one ever to tame this beast so."
Mother cried, in utter fright
"Do not go to Loch Ness Lake tonight!"

But stubbornly he made his quest
With Kyle held tightly to his mother's breast
They stood frightened at the door
As the father made his way over hill and moor

In the light of the silvery moon's wake
Did  the father with rope did he take
Yet motionless, did the stallion stand
As the father approached with rope in hand...(-bc)

In The Light of the Silver Moon (Poem 2)

Artwork by Christi L. Williams 
Connect with her: www.christiwilliamsart.com/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/christi.l.williams

My poetic rendering of George MacDonald's short story "The Wise Woman" (Poem 12)

---Rosamond Fell Into Her Arms--

Rosamond in an angry display
Shouted and pulled her hand away
"Old woman, you are ugly through and through.
There one else I hate more than you!"

See if naughtiness is what will be
Then surely fear and anger you will see
Both you would clearly expect
From a heart that you could not correct

Rosamond thinking the woman to talk
Quietly the wise woman continued to walk
Step by step and never turning
Wondering why the woman not in anger burning 

Little Obstinate now confused in mind
Thinking herself too precious to be left behind
On and on the wise woman went from sight
Vanishing in the dim moonlight

The princess perceiving her current durress
Under the moon, with no one, in loneliness
Horribly frightened, she ran in fear
Thinking the old woman to soon appear

With each step, Rosamond to take
Only the sound of her own feet to make
With each step of Rosamond's feet
The woman's song kept to its beat

--Song from the book--

Rosamond screamed as she ran
Not knowing the wise woman's name or plan
But the wise woman had heard her feet
She stopped and turned to wait and meet

She ran as far as she could tell
And as she ran she also fell
Thinking the woman never hearing her plea
Until into the wise woman's arms...would Rosamond finally be...(-bc)

Rosamond Fell Into the Woman's Arms (Poem 12)

My reading of an English translation of the Gaelic Song        "I Early Awoke" from Gaelic Song Collection by Henry White's "The Celtic Lyre" 
https://archive.org/details/celticlyrecollec04whyt

by Dr Mac Lachlan and Translated by L. MacBean

---I Early Awoke---

I early awoke on a morning in May,
And went alone to ascend the green brae;
The sun had set out on its heavenly way,
And the cool dews of night lay on blossom and spray.

As I climb up the moor on the face of the hill,
How pleasant the murmur that comes from the rill;
The dew on the roses which border the stream,
Arises in mist on the sun's morning beam.

O sweet is the song of the birds from the glade,
The thrush sings her carol of joy o'erhead,
The cattle are lowing on yonder green plain,
And echo replies from the craggan again.

How lovely the garment of mountain and field!
How sweet is the fragrance the meadow flowers yield!-
Though beauty and gladness deck forest and lea,
And the groves team with joy, there is no joy for me.

Alone and sad-hearted I sit on the peak,
Of the cause of my sorrow I scarcely can speak-
I never may tread on the moorlands again,
Nor roam with delight on my dearly loved glen.

No valley so cheerful and fair could be found,
So cheerfully guarded by mountains around;
In winter no tempest can enter thy dell-
My sorrowful doom is to bid thee farewell.

But it's time to descend from the mountain again,
No singing or sighing can banish my pain;
See, down by the shore is the boat under sail,
Which shall bear me away from the beautiful vale.

I'll gaze from this ridge on the mountains, and view
For the last time each corrie and valley I knew;
I leave you my blessing since i must depart,
I turn down the mountain, and sad is my heart.

I Early Awoke (A Gaelic Reading)

My reading of an English translation of the Gaelic Song "I Love The HIghlands" from Gaelic Song Collection by Henry White's "The Celtic Lyre"
https://archive.org/details/celticlyrecollec04whyt

----I Love The Highlands---

Dear, dear are the Highlands, beloved the glens
Each cascade and dell in the land of the Bens;
And dear are the gallants in gay tartan there,
With feathered Glengarries and thick curling hair.

To me, dear are they; clad from heel to head,
With hose and with sporan, with sword and with plaid;
Light and graceful they glide, in the Highland garb dressed-
But poor is their garb to the warmth of their breast.

They stood by their country when perils pressed hard,
And, urged to the death, scorned the traitor's reward;
Though their vexed spirits bend to oppression's rude shocks,
Yet stout are their hearts as their own mountain rocks.

And dear are the maidens, so handsome and fair;
In their smiles oft I sought to soothe sorrow and care; 
With bride by my side, from my own Highland home,
Light-hearted and free o'er the world I would roam.

And dear is the Gaelic-its music and song
Oft cheered our sad hearts, wrung by grief or by wrong;
The accents we lisped, as in childhood we strayed,
Shall ne'er be forgot till in dust we are laid.

O'er our country beloved now the red deer bound free,
While useless o'er ocean wide scattered are we;
But should battle-storms threaten, who then shall stand true?
O, then for the boysin the bonnets of blue!

Of their might the renown shall be spread to the pole,
On the winged wind sped where the foam-billows roll;
And while o'er the earth's bosom a banner shall wave,
Remembered shall still be the deeds of the brave.

And if ever for battle unsheathed be the sword,
Though scant now the numbers our musters afford, 
Still the sons of the Gael in danger be nigh,
And, shoulder to shoulder, shall conquer and die.

I Love The Highlands (A Gaelic Reading)

Connect with Michael Newton-Editor of "Memory-Keeper of the Forest"
Blog-www.virtualgael.wordpress.com
Facebook-https://www.facebook.com/gaelicmichael?fref=ts
His Book "Memory-Keeper of the Forest"-http://goo.gl/kHsiEQ

My poetic adaptation of the Gaelic Poem "It Was On Sunday Morning" by Ian Liath MacDhomhnaill and  poetic account of his Highland migration to Ontario, Canada in 1786.  One of the most moving examples of a lamentation I have read recently (e.g. the Scot Gaelic mourning ritual of in the "beating of palms"). Such a vivid song-poem from the Glengarry Migration of Scottish Highlanders to Canada. Iain Liath MacDhamhnail composed this lamentation several years after his migration to Ontario, Canada. His account moves from elation to mourning. He mourned the loss of meaningful work, his companions, his homeland and his fading life. He also mourned not just his coming death but the dying of the Gaelic people, their language, stories, culture and way of life.

---It Was on Sunday Morning ( A Poetic Adaptation)---

There was much wailing and weeping as we went
Down the paths we made our descent
To the harbor where we soon to depart
Blessings and well-wishes filled each heart

It was a Sunday morning fair
Gulls and our wild hopes filled the air
In a large ship, with three masts strong
All gathered with parish priest among

"O King of the Elements I pray!
Protect us as we make our way.
Guide us God, with your mighty hand.
St Raphael, bring us safely to land."

They struck their palms in agony
Our kin not knowing if we ever again to see
As the white sails were filled with wind
Never the Highlands, I, to see again

It was a beautiful sight at hand
As our ship was leaving the land
Blue skies and blue waves rolling high
And an excellent captain to steer her by

We made our way over the open sea
Every sailor and hand busy were we
With sails to hoist and ship to guide
As we made our way to the Canadian side

The first glimpse of land was ever faint
From the crow's nest without restraint
"Land Ho! Land Ho! Ye' Gaels!
O God! Let your winds fill our sails!"

It was Autumn's first day
Toward Canadian shores we made our way
Leaving our Gaelic ancestors behind
Yet, still, their whispers filled my mind

Several years we've worked this land
Heavy days, heavy labor, now at hand
Cutting trees with a dullen axe blade
Yet sharp to Joy's root has it been laid

In Scotland, though we worked in pain
Joy with my sweat would mingle, remain
Hard the work, yet full the heart
That distant Joy now long to depart

Now I say, I am bereft
For long since have the Highlands I left
With a thousand curses to the wind
With the Nor'easters that never end

The winds here are steady and fierce
January squalls, the skin to pierce
Spring storms, they never cease
Mosquitoes, with never a moment's peace

Gone are the days of pure Highland air
In the shadows of her mountains fair
No more slender stags or speckled fawn
The herds of antlered deer are gone

The greatest agony ne'er to cease
The one thing my sorrows to increase
No more Gaelic nobles to see
Long gone the stories of nobility

Their honor and presence don't remain
No song or Gaelic bards in refrain
No Gaelic warriors to fight and stand
No more heroes or their tales at hand

In the Highlands, when I was young
With many green mountains among
With joy to climb, leap and ascend
On their peaks to play in days without end

Memory's sun is now to set
I am old, so much now, I forget
My vigor, my joy, have now went
I feel my life somehow, misspent

My cheeks are withered, my strength is gone
Now only staff and memories to lean upon
To my kin, I am now the object of scorn
Me wondering, why I was to be born?

My mind is troubled, my heart is low
Soon to the grave, I must go
The words of the clergy, my fears to mount
For all that I must give account

The fire now flickers, the embers glow
To the Green Isles, I soon shall go
Til then, many Highland tears to shed
Long after the dirt has covered my head...(-bc)

It Was On Sunday Morning (My Poetic Adaptation)

Connect with Michael Newton-www.virtualgael.wordpress.com
Facebook-www.facebook.com/gaelicmichael?fref=ts
His Book "Memory-Keeper of the Forest"-goo.gl/kHsiEQ

This is my adaptation of the Gaelic Poem "From the Isle of Lewis to Quebec" from the book "Memory Keepers of the Forest" edited by Michael Newton. 

Which is a true account of Ian Greumach's migration from the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebridies to Eastern townships of Quebec in Canada in 1850

From the Isle of Lewis to Quebec

It was the arduous year of our demise
Heavy rains fell from the skies
On stretchers, dead cattle would they carry
Dying from hunger with many to bury

There was no kindling or wood of any kind
We looked aimless for fuel to find
Hillsides we dug and dykes did we break
For any stray timber for a fire to make

The merchant shook the hand of the supplier
Backhand deals did they both conspire
Refusing us goods and even seed
For crops and food our families to feed

Neither British coin nor fish from the hooks
Would turn the hearts of these dreadful crooks
In vain did we try to sell and buy
Silent indifference was their reply

From Loch an Dunain we sailed that day
Expelled from Scotland, we made our way
Each mournful face to soon fade from view
With great mourning and sadness to ensue

The hill of Muirneag was faintly in sight
Through tears we watched by starlit night
Leaving Isle of Lewis, was leaving our soul
Towards Ireland now, to be our goal

We boarded Elizabeth with her sails ready
Sailing toward Columbus' land now steady
Making our way quickly across the sea
As flies from a box, did we land then flee

In these lands the merchants are full of guile
To leave us helpless, peniless, is their style
As a plucked chicken in winter weather
They leave us exposed without a feather

If you hear my song from your dwelling place
Stay and pray for me, for sustaining grace
There are no riches in these desolate lands for me
Only endless forests as far as the eye can see

O Lewis! Isle of Lewis! To you I implore
How I long to be again upon your shore
If only Glasgow or Edinburgh could I see
If only the Scots, the Gaels there, could hear my plea...

From The Isle of Lewis to Quebec (My Poetic Adaptation)

Connect with Michael Newton-www.virtualgael.wordpress.com
Facebook-www.facebook.com/gaelicmichael?fref=ts
His Book "Memory-Keeper of the Forest"-goo.gl/kHsiEQ

My adaptation "Alone in The Marshes" of the Gaelic Poem "I Am Dejected in The Bog Myself" from the anthology "Memory-Keeper of the Forest" edited by Michael Newton. Which is a song-poem from the Glengarry Migration to Ontario whose author is unknown. 

His song-poem speaks of 

---Alone In the Marshes----

I sit here, dejected and alone
Distraught, no place to call, my own
I look upon these marshes in strife
Cursed by this bog, and this dreary life

This red-headed codger sits perplexed
What once he cherished, now is vexed
His once bright heart, now to wain and wax
Now sits dejected with his axe

No able horse to clear the ground
No help or present aid is found
From a distance they taunt and mock
As the old man sits a laughing stock

These bogs wild, dark, full of dread
Has brought a fever to my head
With twisting stumps and winding roots
My hair to grey with these bitter fruits

These bogs are wearisome to back and mind
I cannot clear a path of any kind
Trees, stumps and roots surround
No hope or crop could spring up from this ground

To my Highland memories I cleave
O if these gloomy winters would leave
O to ever keep the wetness at bay
Will warmth ever come our way

Up to my knees the waters remain
O to have a canal to drain
Will angus or strong lads ever come
Or will this dreary bog, be my sum

O God, from this bog deliver
Either help come soon, or I wither
Bring able hands and help I beg
Or bring me spirits from the whiskey keg

Will these marshes be my measure
In these foreign lands I find no pleasure
O Gaels, O Scots, lend me your ear
There is no good or treasure here!....(-bc)

Alone In The Marshes (My Poetic Adaptation)

October 1968, While helping Tolkien with his new office and library, Joy Hill finds the manuscript of Bilbo’s Last Song. The poem is sung by Bilbo Baggins at the Grey Havens, as he is about to leave Middle-earth forever. Chronologically this places it at the very end of The Return of the King, the last book of The Lord of the Rings, although it was written later than the books and was never included in them. 



---Bilbo's Last Song (At the Gray Havens)---

Day is ended, dim my eyes,
but journey long before me lies.
Farewell, friends! I hear the call.
The ship's beside the stony wall.
Foam is white and waves are grey;
beyond the sunset leads my way.
Foam is salt, the wind is free;
I hear the rising of the Sea.

Farewell, friends! The sails are set,
the wind is east, the moorings fret.
Shadows long before me lie,
beneath the ever-bending sky,
but islands lie behind the Sun
that I shall raise ere all is done;
lands there are to west of West,
where night is quiet and sleep is rest.

Guided by the Lonely Star,
beyond the utmost harbour-bar,
I'll find the heavens fair and free,
and beaches of the Starlit Sea.
Ship, my ship! I seek the West,
and fields and mountains ever blest.
Farewell to Middle-earth at last.
I see the Star above my mast!

Bilbo's Last Song (At the Gray Havens-A Reading)

Artwork by Johan Egerkrans
Connect with him: www.facebook.com/johanegerkranspublic
Find his art here: johan-egerkrans.blogspot.se/

My poetic rendering of the Scottish Legend of the Water Kelpie.

---The Father's Certain Fate--- 

The father with rope in hand
Without a struggle did it stand
Though to rope it, did it remain
As he mounted to grasp its main

As the father mounted without reply
The horse twinkled with wicked eye
"Look mother!" The boy said in surpise
The horse began to grow in size

The Water Kelpie, now twice in height
Its gleaming eyes were such a sight
It stamped its hoof with evil eye
Against the rocks with sparks to fly

The Kelpie soon to raise its head
Soon the father filled with dread
It's seething teeth white as a pyre
Smoke pluming with exhaling fire

Its hair to change to snakes of green
Around the father's hands to cling
Thrice did it rear up to the sky
Then galloping hard, its hooves to fly

Along the shoreline, did it race
Toward the deep waters did it set its face
"Jump off! Jump off!" did Kyle exclaim
His father was now ever stuck to the Kelpie's mane

The mother and son so filled with fear
As the Kelpie to plunge and to disappear
They searched the shoreline throughout the night
The father was no more in sight

The only answer was the howling wind
Could this be the father's end?
In the morning there was dread in store
As his rope and clothes washed up on the shore

Kyle brought rope and clothes to his mother
Struck with weeping she began to shudder
"Starvation will soon be our plight!"
"With no crops or food now in sight!"

"Mother, if food is your wish?"
"I shall go and catch some fish."
"Not to those waters shall you go!"
Said the mother, "Your certain fate, I know!"

"But dear mother, I must try!"
The mother only let out a sigh
All day the boy to cast his line
Yet not a single fish to find

While by Loch Ness, where Kyle stood
An old woman came collecting wood
Kyle to greet, "A pleasant day."
"That it is." did the woman say.

"Good to enjoy the warmth of the sun."
"That is...until the day is done."
The woman, "Yes, I enjoy it's light."
"Yet my bones to ashes in the coldness of night."

Kyle remembered his father true
"Son, no matter how poor are you."
"There is always someone with greater need."
"Someone to help, care for and to feed."

A Father's Certain Fate (Poem 3)

Bearing witness to everything true, good and beautiful.

theshadowlands

Popular tracks