A Dream of a Mystical and Ancient Land



I dreamed a dream of a mystical and ancient land.  A land where the runes were once cast and a magical web was woven.  This was a land where saint and scholar and bard were one,  and many wise ones from around the ancient world came to study there.  The High Priest of all the other lands said, "Pay homage to me, for I am the High Priest,"  And, the saints and scholars and bards said, "No!  For we receive our wisdom direct from the Holy Land, and from the fish of the lakes and the fowl of the air; the wind from the mountains and the whispering of the trees."   So, the High Priest sent the King to this land and forced the saints and the scholars and the bards to pay homage to the High Priest.   Though later the King and High Priest became enemies,  the King held this land in cruel subjection for eight  hundred years; causing many of her children to starve and many others to leave.  Those who had died called out from the ground in despair, yet, the runes had been cast and the web had been woven and the King was forced to leave.  Slowly the crops began to grow and prosperity began to return to the land; prosperity paid for by the blood of those who died and the tears of those who left.  This became an ancient and mystical land again, this land of my dream.  This land of saint and scholar  and bard; of Yeats and O’Carolan, Moore and O’Casey.  This land of gorse covered hills, lakes and rivers bordered by rushes, with its green fields and lush peat bogs.  This land of Tir na nOg.  This land of Ireland.