The Prophecy
Beneath the peaceful heavens lies the land.
It rests beneath the bowl of the bright sky.
The land lies, itself a dish, a cup of honeyed strength, there, for the taking, offering strength to each
There it lies, the splendour of the land.
The land is like a mead worth the brewing, worth the drinking.
It stores for us the gifts of summer even in winter.
It protects and armours us, a spear upon a shield
Here we can make for ourselves strong places, the fist holding the shield
Here we can build safe places, our spear-bristling enclosures.
This is where we will turn the earth. This is where we will stay.
And here will our children live to the third of three generations
Here there will be a forest point of field fences
The horn counting of many cows
And the encircling of many fields
There will be sheltering trees
So fodderful of beech mast that the trees themselves will be weary with the weight.
In this land will come abundance bringing:
Wealth for our children
Every boy a warrior,
Every watch dog, warrior-fierce
The wood of every tree, spear-worthy
The fire from every stone a molten spear-stream
Every stone a firm foundation
Every field full of cows
Every cow calf-fertile
Our land shall be rich with banks in birdsong
Grey deer before Spring
And fruitful Autumns
The plain shall be thronged from the hills to the shore.
Full and fertile.
And as time runs its sharp and shadowy journey, this shall be true.
This shall be the story of the land and its people
We shall have peace beneath the heavens.
Forever
