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“Every man carries the seed of his own death, and you will not be more than a man. You will have everything; you cannot have more…” ― Mary Stewart, The Hollow Hills
Down country lanes in old England I roam
And feel neath my soft booted feet the soft earthen loam
To reach that corner away down the lane
Where Merlin awaits to teach me again
The fairies and elves have kept me too long
Playing their games and singing their songs
Where has the night flown I really can’t tell
The gnomes and the dwarves rarely yell
To spoil the slumber of those who dwell
With the old folk neath the Hazel and Rowan
There, Merlin I see in the distance ahead
We travel once more down an old winding track
It leads to the castle, of fame and misfortune
Of Tintagel Castle with cliffs so sheer
No man nor beast could ever get near
So thought Gorlois when protecting Ygraine
But he forgot Merlin who helped Uther
To reach the castle in the shape of old Gorlois
And a son to Ygraine and King Uther Pendragon was born
Arthur, the saviour of the magic of old
Which Uther had tried to banish by fire.
Builder of Camelot and gatherer of proud knights
Fair Guinevere was his wife
And Lancelot First Knight of the round table
Who led the search for the Holy Grail
And Arthur, whose star shone so bright would finally fail
Killed by his son, Mordred, sired on his sister in the night
And so fell Camelot into ruin and decay
Excalibur lost back into the lake from which it came
Where the Lady would keep and watch over it
Til once more it was needed and a saviour was fit
To finally keep and hold it
And Merlin would return from his crystal cave
Not just in my dreams where I see him and wave
Deep in my heart as we soar through the sky
He as an Eagle will fly and I as an Owl
Or running so fast as wolves on the prowl
Crossing the ground as the grasses speed by
But who am I to speak of such things
The heroes are gone
The light has no longer shone
On fair Camelot or the knights of old
And Merlin in his cave of crystal has grown cold
So in my dreams only he will wake once more
So we can wander the lanes of the England of old
And learn of the lore which Merlin knows well
Of Vivienne Lady of the Lake and the magical well
Fairies and Elves, Sprites and Sylphs,
Pan and the Wild Hunt
And magic and spells til the sun shines once more.
Ah slumber, I crave thee to bring back my friends.
And I will no more feel so heart sore.
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“I am nothing, yes; I am air and darkness, a word, a promise. I watch in the crystal and I wait in the hollow hills. But out there in the light I have a young king and a bright sword to do my work for me, and build what will stand when my name is only a word for forgotten songs and outworn wisdom, and when your name, Morgause, is only a hissing in the dark.”
― Mary Stewart, The Hollow Hills
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