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Inspired by Celtic studies and myths.
Upon the cliff top stands a ruin,
That once did mock the storms.
And through this shattered skeleton,
A lost soul treads, wan and forlorn.
Here beneath this fallen, crumbled tower,
There weeps a softly trembling wild-flower.
She ghosts through roofless corridors,
Here she sings her sad song of loss.
As soft grasses come to reclaim the halls,
A phantom, she sees what once was.
A steadfast keep, thronging with lively game,
Yet much is now dust, and her people slain.
Mariel! Mariel!
Her name rings as the sweetly chiming bell.
That did once call, Lady and her Lord, to feast.
Now she sings her soulful dirge,
As a sad spectre she walks this earth.
Since the enemy came from across the turbulent seas.
She sings sadly of the days, before the invading horde,
Put this shining place to the fire, and to sword.
Now this once proud fortress, a sepulchre is,
Looted, destroyed, and wrecked upon the morbid coast.
As this last survivor, so fair with sad grace,
Does sing her soft songs to the ghosts.
A broken beauty, poor maiden, serenades the silent dead,
Seeing not the fallen towers but a sweet vision of what was instead.
And of the many and colourful, fanciful tales,
Of which old sailors are want to tell,
Is a legend of the dire curse
Of the melancholy Mariel.
And travellers beware lest thou art bewitched by her sad song,
For it\'s melancholy beauty may infect thy tender soul,
And thou would\'st from then be bound for all thy lifetime long,
To wander lost upon this earth, forevermore melancholy and alone.
""...Not every fight is worth fighting." Hold me to it."
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