A Moonlit Path
Music and Lyrical Composition: Ashagal
Lyrical Text: John Harford
Along moon-bathed forest paths, under ancient eves,
Old Man walks with staff in hand, reading branch and leaf.
As he passes gnarled grove, mists swirl, shades arise.
Dwellers of woods, faces silver-eyed.
“What do you seek, Old Man Redcaps, blood or flying leaf?
Herb of veil or webs of passage, golden voices of the bees?”
Pale beams caught his face as he crooked his brim,
Winds rose, he locked gaze with face so grim.
Light struck his raised staff, the Alva hedged.
Silence fell, the woods chill, and so he said:
“I seek not flying herb or magic blood of mead,
Mine are doors beneath leaf arches, portents, signs among the trees.”
Dark the Elves riddling wyld Wisdom’s price,
But Old Man instead cast his knowing eye.
Words of power rhymed, away the Dark Ones slip;
They seek not the names of runes, his gift.
“What do you seek, Old Man Redcaps, blood or flying leaf?
Herb of veil or webs of passage, golden voices of the bees?”
“I seek not flying herb or magic blood of mead,
Mine are doors beneath leaf arches, portents, signs among the trees.”
Music and Lyrical Composition: Ashagal
Lyrical Text: John Harford
Along moon-bathed forest paths, under ancient eves,
Old Man walks with staff in hand, reading branch and leaf.
As he passes gnarled grove, mists swirl, shades arise.
Dwellers of woods, faces silver-eyed.
“What do you seek, Old Man Redcaps, blood or flying leaf?
Herb of veil or webs of passage, golden voices of the bees?”
Pale beams caught his face as he crooked his brim,
Winds rose, he locked gaze with face so grim.
Light struck his raised staff, the Alva hedged.
Silence fell, the woods chill, and so he said:
“I seek not flying herb or magic blood of mead,
Mine are doors beneath leaf arches, portents, signs among the trees.”
Dark the Elves riddling wyld Wisdom’s price,
But Old Man instead cast his knowing eye.
Words of power rhymed, away the Dark Ones slip;
They seek not the names of runes, his gift.
“What do you seek, Old Man Redcaps, blood or flying leaf?
Herb of veil or webs of passage, golden voices of the bees?”
“I seek not flying herb or magic blood of mead,
Mine are doors beneath leaf arches, portents, signs among the trees.”