The Birds of Rhiannon

Sitting by the fire, he lifted his head.
In the night when sound is silence,
He had expected all light to be dead,
Save that which he made in defiance.
But no, there was a light here and there,
And a sound- was that birdsong in the air?

He breathed deeply, and grasped his blade.
His hand was strong, his blue eyes steady,
Though of night-birds he should be afraid.
He sat there, head tilted, a fighting man ready
To leap up and deal sudden swift death
To any who might ride singing on night's breath.

But this was a song such as he had heard
Only in his heart when he saw a summer morning.
Such a song never came from throat of bird.
His blood sang in his ears, hummed a warning.
He swallowed, and took a firm grip on steel.
It could cause wounds that no balm would heal.

The birdsong swirled like a sweet summer storm,
And then released a woman on the glade's edge.
She stood there- at least, a woman in form,
But her hair was as dark as piny green hedge,
And her eyes grave and sweet as the birds
That now fluttered to her shoulders like words

That she spoke without fear of the sword.
"Be welcome to my wood, and in peace.
You have no need for a blade here, my lord.
Here only come those who need a surcease
From all the endless pains of day upon day.
And here I stand, to take the cares away."

He had been a fighter all the days of his life,
And he listened to her, and then shook his head.
Lady- goddess- I cannot be free of strife-
At least not until the day when I fall dead.
That is not the way that I was born or made.
I live by the sword, and will die by the blade."

"Do you wish you could be free of the fear
That has followed you, and still will follow,
That hangs around you in a cloud even here,
And makes you fear the song of a small swallow?
For the song of my birds can bring endless slumber,
Sweet untroubled sleep, and dreams without number."

"Lady- goddess- I cannot be free of that feeling.
I have enemies, and my dreams are nightmares.
The wounds that I have caused are past all healing,
And I do not deserve to be free of my cares.
This is simply the way that it must be."
He spoke as one does who cannnot win free.

"Will you trust me, O man young and mortal?
Will you trust me enough to go into darkness,
To pass the gate of sleep and death's portal,
To pass away from this world's unrelieved starkness?
I can give you peace, but only with trust,
And not if for this world or for life you lust."

"Lady- goddess- I gave up hope long ago.
It is painful to have it reborn again, even now."
And he bowed his head with its hair white as snow,
And wiped sweat away from his dew-dotted brow.
"If you could give me sleep, and peace without pain,
I would never long for other freedom again."

"Close your eyes." Her voice, dark and soft,
Lulled him into doing as she asked or said.
With a gesture, the lady sent her birds aloft.
They danced around the swordsman's bowed head,
Their voices softer than their fluttering wings,
Their singing softer than the song the moth sings.

And he fell into their voices, passed into dreams,
Into lands where he walked as, when a child,
He had been fascinated by the light on the streams,
And would watch it there, gold-gleaming and wild;
He was again that happy, knew again those joys.
His sleeping face relaxed and became a young boy's.

The goddess watched him, and then she smiled,
And lifted her hand to call her birds back to her.
She passed from that glade into the dark wild
On feet lighter and than the wind softer-swifter,
And perhaps they went to sing by the River Shannon,
Those that bring slumber, the birds of Rhiannon.