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The tops of the beech tree,                   Great was the horse in battle,
Have sprouted of late,                            and the ivy at his prime;
Are changed and renewed                    The hazel was arbiter
From their withered state.                      At this charmed time.

When the beech prospers,                    Uncouth and savage was the fir,
Through spells and litanies                    Cruel was the ash tree-
The oak tops entangle,                          Turns not aside a foot-breadth,
There is hope for the trees.                   Straight at the heart runs he.

I have plundered the fern,                      The birch, though very noble,
Through all secrets I spy,                       Armed himself but late;
Old Math and Mathonwy                          A sign not of cowardice
Knew no more than I.                             But of his high estate.

For with nine sorts of faculty                  The heath gave consolation
God has gifted me;                                To the toil-spent folk,
I am fruit of fruits gathered                     The long-enduring poplars
from nine sorts of trees-                         In battle much broke.

Plum, Quince, whortle, mulberry,          Some of them were cast away
Raspberry, pear,                                   On the field of fight
Black cherry and white                          Because of holes torn in them
With sorbs in me share                           By the enemy's might.

From my seat at Fefynedd,                  Very wrathful was the vine
A city that is strong,                               Whose henchmen are the elms
I watched the trees and green               I exalt him mightily
things hastening along.                         To rulers of realms.

Retreating from happiness                   Strong chieftains were the
They would fain be set                          Blackthorn with his ill fruit,
In form of the chief letters                      The unbeloved whitethorn
of the alphabet.                                      Who wears the same suit.

Wayfarers wondered                             The swift pursuing  reed
Warriors were dismayed                      The broom with his brood,
At renewal of conflicts                            And the furze but ill-behaved
Such a Gwydion made;                         Until he is subdued.

Under the tongue root                            The dower-scattering yew
A fight most dread,                                 Stood glum at the fight's fringe,
And another raging                                 With the elder slow to burn
Behind, in the head.                                Amid fires that singe,

The alders in the front line                      And the blessed, wild apple
Began the affray.                                     Laughing in pride
Willow and rowan-tree                            From the Gorchan of Maeldrew
Were tardy in array.                                By the rock side.

The holly, dark green,                              In shelter linger
Made a resolute stand;                           Privet and woodbine,
He is armed with many spears points   inexperienced in warfare,
Wounding the hand                                 And the courtly pine.

With foot-beat of swift oak                     But I, although slighted
Heaven and earth rung;                          Because I was not big,
'Stout Guardian of the Door',                 Fought, trees, in your array
His name in every tongue                      On the field of Goddeu Brig. 
 

Links    

Wizard Math 
Gwydion the Man
Pwyll Becomes King  
Pwyll & Rhiannon 
Pryderi's Fate

 
             
(Verse Taken from: The 21 Lessons of Merlyn-A Study In Druid Magic Author Douglas Monroe)

"The shortest possible summary of the Otherworld Initiation would be:
An individual is transported magically to another world, which is the origin of all life and death and power.  In this Otherworld, certain events occur in a specific sequence, culminating in the vision of a Tree, the fruit of which brings forth wisdom and prophecy.  During this journey, the initiate communes with the Ancients-a tradition derived from the most primitive Celtic Root, the Cult of the Dead.  Finally, the prophetic vision vouchsafes a sequence of insights, some of which are predictive, while others are unutterable in normal language."  The Prophetic Vision of Merlin.


Quote from: The 21 Lessons of Merlyn, a Study of Druid Magic& Lore
Author- Douglas Monroe 

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