Songs and Tales of a Wandering Bard

A leather-bound book with a triquetra imprinted on the cover; the words "Truth", "Nature", and "Knowledge" etched near each of the three points.

The Four Berries

Oh the holly, she bears a berry
As green as the grass.
And the Spring Maiden's blessings
Will be on each lass.

Well the holly, she bears a berry
As brown as the earth
While the Stag King leads our revels
with music and mirth.

Oh the holly, she bears a berry
As red as the leaves.
Autumn Mother will reward us
With cider and sheaves.

Now the holly, she bears a berry
As white as the snow.
So the Winter King reminds us
The old year must go.

There was once in the town of Elyssyrr a clever, young servant by the name of Bevan. On one green spring morning, the young servant was sent out by his master to seek a lost goat, and Bevan departed immediately as instructed. The master was greatly pleased by the young lad's determination, but as the day grew longer with no sign of his servant's return, he began to worry. As the sun past the midday mark, the master quickly set out after Bevan, afraid that some misfortune had befallen him. For hours the master searched for his servant across the highlands and the lowlands, and his anxiety built with each passing moment. Yet as the sun was beginning to set, he perceived Bevan running up and down a small field. Filled with relief, the master darted over to his servant.

"Bevan," asked the master, "have you found the goat I sent you to seek?"

"No, master," Bevan replied. "I have not found the goat, yet I have not even looked for it."

"What have you looked for then!?" the master shouted with a mixture of astonishment and frustration in his voice.

"Something better, and that luckily I have found."

"And what might that be?" asked the master, an eager curiousity mingling with his annoyance.

"Three blackbirds," answered the boy.

"Hmph! And just where are these three blackbirds?"

"I see one of them, I hear the other, and I am running after the third," answered the clever lad.

Take example by this and do not waste away troubling yourself over your masters and their orders, but rather do what comes to your own head and inspires you. Only then will you act just and wise as prudent Bevan.

A rich woman sat up late one night carding and preparing wool, while all the family and servants were asleep. Suddenly a knock was given at the door, and a voice called, "Open! open!"

"Who is there?" said the woman of the house.

"I am the Witch of One Horn," was answered.

The mistress, supposing that one of her neighbors had called and required assistance, opened the door. A woman entered, having in her hand a pair of wool-carders and bearing a horn on her forehead as if growing there. She sat down by the fire in silence and began to card the wool with violent haste. Suddenly she paused and said aloud, "Where are the women? They delay too long."

Then a second knock came to the door, and a voice called as before, "Open! open!"

The mistress felt herself obliged to rise and open to the call, and immediately a second witch entered, having two horns on her forehead and in her hand a wheel for spinning wool.

"Give me place," she said, "I am the Witch of the Two Horns," and she began to spin as quick as lightning.

And so the knocks went on, and the call was heard, and the witches entered until at last twelve women sat round the fire—the first with one horn, the last with twelve horns.

And they carded the thread, turned their spinning-wheels, and wound and wove, all singing together an ancient rhyme. Yet no word did they speak to the mistress of the house. Strange to hear and frightful to look upon were these twelve women with their horns and their wheels; and the mistress felt near to death. She tried to rise that she might call for help, but she could not move nor could she utter a word or a cry for the spell of the witches was upon her.

Then one of them called to her in Moonshaean and said, "Rise, woman, and make us a cake."

Then the mistress searched for a vessel to bring water from the well that she might mix the meal and make the cake, but she could find none.

And they said to her, "Take a sieve and bring water in it."

And she took the sieve and went to the well; but the water poured from it, and she could fetch none for the cake so she sat down by the well and wept.

Then a voice came by her and said, "Take yellow clay and moss, bind them together, and plaster the sieve so that it will hold."

This she did, and the sieve held the water for the cake. Then the voice said again:

"Return, and when you come to the north angle of the house, cry aloud three times and say, 'The mountain of the Fenian women and the sky over it is all on fire.'"

And she did so. When the witches inside heard the call, a great and terrible cry broke from their lips, and they rushed forth with wild lamentations and shrieks, fleeing straight away to the Aspenhills where was their chief abode. But the Spirit of the Well bade the mistress of the house to enter and prepare her home against the enchantments of the witches if they returned again.

And first to break their spells, she sprinkled the water in which she had washed her child's feet, the feet-water, outside the door on the threshold. Secondly, she took the cake which in her absence the witches had made of meal mixed with the blood drawn from the sleeping family. She broke the cake in bits and placed a bit in the mouth of each sleeper, and they were restored. Then she took the cloth they had woven and placed it half in and half out of the chest with the padlock. And lastly, she secured the door with a great crossbeam fastened in the jambs so that the witches could not enter. After having done these things, she waited.

Not long were the witches in coming back, and they raged and called for vengeance.

"Open! open!" they screamed. "Open, feet-water!"

"I cannot," said the feet-water; "I am scattered on the ground, and my path is down to the Lough."

"Open, open, wood and trees and beam!" they cried to the door.

"I cannot," said the door, "for the beam is fixed in the jambs, and I have no power to move."

"Open, open, cake that we have made and mingled with blood!" they cried again.

"I cannot," said the cake, "for I am broken and bruised, and my blood is on the lips of the sleeping children."

Then the witches rushed through the air with great cries and fled back to the Aspenhills, uttering strange curses on the Spirit of the Well who had wished their ruin. But the woman and the house were left in peace, and a mantle dropped by one of the witches in her flight was kept hung up by the mistress in memory of that night. This mantle was then henceforth kept by the same family from generation to generation for five hundred years after.

A sprightly tailor was employed by the great MacDonald of Darkhorn Castle in order to make the laird a pair of trews as used in olden times. And trews being the vest and breeches united in one piece and ornamented with fringes, were very comfortable and suitable to be worn in walking or dancing. And MacDonald had said to the tailor that if he would make the trews by night in the temple, he would get a handsome reward. For it was thought that the old ruined temple was haunted and that fearsome things were to be seen there at night.

The tailor was well aware of this; but he was a sprightly man, and when the laird dared him to make the trews by night in the temple, the tailor was not to be daunted but took it in hand to gain the prize. So when night came, away he went up the glen about half a mile distance from the castle till he came to the old temple. Then he chose himself a nice gravestone for a seat, lit his candle, put on his thimble, and set to work at the trews; plying his needle nimbly, and thinking about the hire that the laird would have to give him.

For some time he got on pretty well, until he felt the floor all of a tremble under his feet; and looking about him, but keeping his fingers at work, he saw the appearance of a great human head rising up through the stone pavement of the temple. And when the head had risen above the surface, there came from it a great and mighty voice which said, "Do you see this great head of mine?"

"I see that, but I'll sew this!" replied the sprightly tailor, and he stitched away at the trews.

Then the head rose higher up through the pavement, until its neck appeared. And when its neck was shown, the thundering voice came again and said, "Do you see this great neck of mine?"

"I see that, but I'll sew this!" said the sprightly tailor, and he stitched away at his trews.

Then the head and neck rose higher still until the great shoulders and chest were shown above the ground. And again the mighty voice thundered, "Do you see this great chest of mine?"

And again the sprightly tailor replied, "I see that, but I'll sew this!" and stitched away at his trews.

And still it kept rising through the pavement until it shook a great pair of arms in the tailor's face and said, "Do you see these great arms of mine?"

"I see those, but I'll sew this!" answered the tailor, and he stitched hard at his trews for he knew that he had no time to lose.

The sprightly tailor was taking the long stitches when he saw it gradually rising through the floor until it lifted out a great leg and, stamping with it upon the pavement, said in a roaring voice, "Do you see this great leg of mine?"

"Aye, aye: I see that, but I'll sew this!" cried the tailor, and his fingers flew with the needle as he took such long stitches that he was just come to the end of the trews when the specter was taking up its other leg. But before it could pull it out of the pavement, the sprightly tailor had finished his task. Blowing out his candle and springing from off his gravestone, he buckled up and ran out of the temple with the trews under his arm. Then the fearsome phantom gave a loud roar and stamped with both his feet upon the pavement, chasing after the sprightly tailor.

Down the glen they ran, faster than the stream when the flood rides it. But the tailor had got the start and a nimble pair of legs, and he did not choose to lose the laird's reward. And though the ghost roared to him to stop, the sprightly tailor was not the man to be beholden to a monster. So he held his trews tight and let no darkness grow under his feet until he had reached Darkhorn Castle. He had no sooner got inside the gate and shut it before the apparition came up to it. Enraged at losing his prize, the ghost struck the wall above the gate and left there the mark of his five great fingers. You may see them plainly to this day if you but peer close enough.

But the sprightly tailor gained his reward for MacDonald paid him handsomely for the trews and never discovered that a few of the stitches were somewhat long.

Up in the Black Mountains in Gwynneth lies the lake known as Lyn y Van Vach. To the margin of this lake the shepherd of Storaad once led his lambs, and lay there while they sought pasture. Suddenly, from the dark waters of the lake, he saw three maidens rise. Shaking the bright drops from their hair and gliding to the shore, they wandered about among his flock. They had more than mortal beauty, and he was filled with love for her that came nearest to him. He offered her the bread he had with him, and she took it and tried it, but then sang to him:

"Hard-baked is thy bread,
'Tis not easy to catch me."
And then she ran off laughing to the lake.

The next day he took with him bread not so well done, and watched for the maidens. When they came ashore he offered his bread as before, and the maiden tasted it and sang:

"Unbaked is thy bread,
I will not have thee."
And again she disappeared in the waves.

A third time did the shepherd of Storaad try to attract the maiden, and this time he offered her bread that he had found floating about near the shore. This pleased her, and she promised to become his wife if he were able to pick her out from among her sisters on the following day. When the time came the shepherd knew his love by the strap of her sandal. Then she told him she would be as good a wife to him as any earthly maiden could be unless he should strike her three times without cause. Of course he deemed that this could never be; and she, summoning from the lake three cows, two oxen, and a bull, as her marriage portion, was led homeward by him as his bride.

The years passed happily, and three children were born to the shepherd and the lake-maiden. But one day the two were going to an anointing, and she said to her husband that it was far to walk, so he told her to go for the horses.

"I will," said she, "if you bring me my gloves which I've left in the house."

But when he came back with the gloves, he found she had not gone for the horses; so he tapped her lightly on the shoulder with the gloves, and said, "Go, go."

"That's one," said she.

Another time they were at a wedding, when suddenly the lake-maiden fell to the ground sobbing and weeping amid the joy and mirth of all those around her.

Her husband tapped her on the shoulder and asked her, "Why do you weep?"

"Because they are entering into trouble; and trouble is upon you; for that is the second causeless blow you have given me. Be careful; the third is the last."

The husband was careful never to strike her again. But one day at a funeral she suddenly burst out into fits of laughter. Her husband forgot, and touched her rather roughly on the shoulder, saying, "Is this a time for laughter?"

"I laugh," she said, "because those that die go out of trouble, but your trouble has come. The last blow has been struck; our marriage is at an end, and so farewell." And with that she rose up and left the house and went to their home.

Then she, looking round upon her home, called to the cattle she had brought with her:

"Brindle cow, white speckled,
Spotted cow, bold freckled,
Old white face, and grey Geringer,
And the white bull from the king's coast,
Grey ox, and black calf,
All, all, follow me home."

Now the black calf had just been slaughtered, and was hanging on the hook; but it got off the hook alive and well and followed her. And the oxen, though they were ploughing, trailed the plough with them and did her bidding. So she fled to the lake again, they following her, and with them plunged into the dark waters.

And to this day is the furrow seen which the plough left as it was dragged across the mountains to the tarn.

Only once did she come again, when her sons were grown to manhood, and then she gave them gifts of healing by which they won the name of Meddygon Storaad, the Physicians of Storaad.

There was a woman in Fenton, the wife of a fisherman; as he had always good luck, she had plenty of fish at all times stored away in the house ready for market. But, to her great annoyance, she found that a great cat used to come in at night and devour all the best and finest fish. So she kept a big stick by her and determined to watch.

One day, as she and a woman were spinning together, the house suddenly became quite dark. The door was burst open as if by the blast of the tempest, when in walked a huge black cat who went straight up to the fire then turned round and growled at them.

"Why, surely this is a devil," said a young girl, who was by, sorting fish.

"I'll teach you how to call me names," said the cat. He then swiftly jumped at her and scratched her arm till the blood came. "There, now," he said, "you will be more civil another time when a gentleman comes to see you."

And with that he walked over to the door and shut it close to prevent any of them going out, for the poor young girl, while crying loudly from fright and pain, had made a desperate rush to get away.

Just then a man was going by, and hearing the cries, he pushed open the door and tried to get in. But the cat stood on the threshold and would let no one pass. On this the man attacked him with his stick and gave him a sound blow. The cat, however, was more than a match in the fight for it flew at him and tore his face and hands so badly that the man at last took to his heels and ran away as fast as he could.

"Now, it's time for my dinner," said the cat, going up to examine the fish that was laid out on the tables. "I hope the fish is good today. Now, don't disturb me nor make a fuss. I can help myself."

With that he jumped up and began to devour all the best fish while he growled at the woman.

"Away! Out of this, you wicked beast!" she cried, giving it a blow with the tongs that would have broken its back only it was a devil. "Out of this, no fish you have today!"

But the cat only grinned at her and went on tearing and spoiling and devouring the fish, evidently not a bit the worse for the blow. On this, both the women attacked it with sticks and struck hard blows enough to kill it. Yet the cat glared at them and spit fire. Then, making a leap, it tore their heads and arms till the blood came, and the frightened women rushed shrieking from the house.

But presently the mistress returned, carrying with her a bottle of holy water. Looking in, she saw the cat still devouring the fish and not minding. So she crept over quietly and threw holy water on it without a word. No sooner was this done than a dense black smoke filled the place through which nothing was seen but the two red eyes of the cat, burning like coals of fire. Then the smoke gradually cleared away, and she saw the body of the creature burning slowly till it became shriveled and black like a cinder and finally disappeared. And from that time the fish remained untouched and safe from harm for the power of the evil one was broken, and the devil cat was seen no more.

In the old times there was a fool living in Dynnegall, on the isle of Moray. Although he was excessively fond of music, he was unable to learn more than one tune, and that was the "Black Rogue." He used to get a good deal of money from the gentlemen, for they used to get sport out of him. One night the piper was coming home from a house where there had been a dance, and he was drunk. When he came to a little bridge that was up by his mother's house, he pulled out his pipe and began playing the “Black Rogue.” Suddenly, a Púca came behind him and flung himself up on the man's back. There were long horns on the Púca, and the piper got a good grip of them.

"Destruction on you, you nasty beast!” cried the piper. “Let me home. I have a ten-penny piece in my pocket for my mother, and she wants snuff."

"Never mind your mother," said the Púca, "but keep your hold. If you fall, you will break your neck and your pipe." Then the Púca said to him, "Play up for me the 'Shan Van Vocht.'"

"I don't know it," said the piper.

"Never mind whether you do or you don't," said the Púca. "Play up, and I'll make you know." The piper took in a deep breath, and he played such music as made himself wonder.

"Upon my word, you're a fine music-master," said the piper, "but tell me where you're bringing me."

"There's a great feast in the house of the Banshee, on the top of Highpeak tonight," said the Púca, "and I'm bringing you there to play music, and, take my word, you'll get the price of your trouble."

"By my word, you'll save me a journey," said the piper, "for a druid put a journey to Highpeak on me because I stole the white gander from him last Midwinter."

The Púca rushed him across hills and bogs and rough places till he brought him to the top of Highpeak. Then the Púca struck three blows with his foot, causing a great door to open, and they passed in together into a fine room. The piper saw a golden table in the middle of the room and hundreds of old women sitting round about it.

One of the old women rose up and said, "A hundred thousand welcomes to you, you Púca of Uktar. Who is this you have brought with you?"

"The best piper in the Isles," replied the Púca.

One of the old women struck a blow on the ground, and a door opened in the side of the wall. And what should the piper see coming out but the white gander which he had stolen from the druid.

"By my conscience," said the piper, "myself and my mother ate every taste of that gander, only one wing, and I gave that to Red Mary, and it's she who told the druid I stole his gander."

The gander cleaned the table and carried it away, and then the Púca said, "Play up music for these ladies."

The piper played up, and the old women began dancing and continued to dance till they were exhausted. Then the Púca commanded the women to pay the piper, and every old woman drew out a gold piece and gave it to him.

"By the Earthmother," the piper said, "I'm as rich as the son of a lord."

"Come with me," instructed the Púca, "and I'll bring you home."

They went out then, and just as the piper was going to ride on the Púca, the gander came up to him and gave him a pipe. The Púca was not long until he brought him to Dynnegall, and he threw the piper off at the little bridge.

Before commanding the piper to return home, the Púca said, "You have two things now that you never had before--you have sense and music.”

The piper went home and knocked at his mother's door saying, "Let me in, I'm as rich as a lord, and I'm the best piper in the Isles!"

"You're drunk," said his mother.

"No, indeed" said the piper, "I haven't drunk a drop." His mother let him in, and he gave her the gold pieces. "Wait now," he said, "till you hear the music I'll play."

He blew into his new pipe, but instead of music, there came a sound as if all the geese and ganders in the Isles were screeching together. He awakened the neighbors who all began to mock him. He then pulled out his old pipe and played melodious music for them. Afterwards, he told them all he had gone through that night. The next morning, when his mother went to look at the gold pieces, there was nothing there but the leaves of a plant. The piper went to the druid and told him his story, but the druid would not believe a word from him. He then pulled out his new pipe, and the screeching of the ganders and geese began.

"Leave my sight, you thief," said the druid.

But nothing would do the piper till he would pull out his old pipe to show the druid that his story was true. On his old pipe he played melodious music, and from that day till the day of his death, there was never a piper in the Isle of Moray who was as good as he was.

One black crow, bad luck for me.
Two black crows, good luck for me.
Three black crows, a son shall be born in the family.
Four black crows, a daughter shall be born in the family.
Five black crows shall be a funeral in the family.
Six black crows, if they fly head on, a sudden death.
Seven black crows with their tails towards you, death within seven years.

There was a young man, not so very long ago, who had been to sea for years. He was married but had no children. He was one of the most spirited men you ever saw. He used to complain of his dreams. He said, "All at once last tenthday I was up in the air, and I saw the vessel I was in going at great speed, making for a mountain, and I tried as hard as I could to keep her from the mountain. I don't believe I was asleep at all, I could see it so plainly. I went along in the air, looking at seven black crows all the time. I got dizzy, and the vessel seemed to lower onto the ground. The vessel lowered within a few hundred feet of the earth, and I saw what I thought were fairies. I thought I had been there for days; in truth, it seemed to me I had been up there for three days, and that I could hear the fairies with mournful sounds drawing a coffin. I watched and saw seven crows on the coffin. It seemed as if they were going to bury someone. Whilst the coffin was going the seven crows flew up and bursted, and the heavens were illuminated more strongly than by the sun. Then I lost sight of the fairies but saw some big giants in white walking about, and there was a big throne with a roof to it. And all at once I was in total darkness, but I could hear things flapping about, flying through the air. Then I saw the moon rising and all the stars, and all sorts of objects flying through the air. And one came to me and put his hand upon my shoulder, saying: 'Prepare to meet us tomorrow.' After that everything went dark again. The first thing I knew I was in a ship steering, and the seven black crows were in front of me. I had a great trouble to steer my vessel. And as I went on the vessel struck a steeple, shattered asunder, and I awoke. Whereupon I jumped out of bed, looking very pale."

I left him on the beach that afternoon after he told me this, when he went home. When he got home he could see seven black crows on the house. Other folk could see the crows, but could not count them. He saw them all perched head on. He went into the house and said, "There is something in these crows, Jane. See them on the roof?"

She cried out and ran out and looked but could not see the seven. After that he didn't seem to be himself, though there was nothing the matter with him. A tenday afterwards, I went out on the morning of the twentiethday after breakfast, and there was a seat on the beach, and on it sat this man, Coran, and another man.

"Why, Coran, you look very pale," I said.

"Do I?" he asked.

"Yes, indeed you do," I replied.

"Well, I don't know, I have had such dreams."

"What will they have been, then?" I asked.

"That I was in a full-rigged ship with all sails set. I was all alone but could see nothing, only seven black crows. I counted them, but my wife could see nothing, but she could hear something."

That same day, when he went home, he said to his wife, "Ah, Jane, there is something coming over me." And immediately afterwards, he fell down dead.

One day a nobleman caught a nightingale and wanted to put it in a cage. But the bird spoke to him saying, "Let me go and I will give you good advice. It may be of use to you some day."

The rich man agreed to let it go, and the nightingale gave him this advice: "Never be sorry for something that cannot be brought back, my lord. And never trust idle words."

The nobleman heard the advise and let the nightingale go. The bird flew out and said, "Too bad you let me go. If only you knew about my treasure. I have a large and very expensive gem under my wing. If you had taken it, you would become even richer."

When he heard that, the nobleman bitterly regretted letting the bird go. He jumped up and desperately tried to snatch it, but the bird was much too swift. The nightingale turned towards him and said, "Now I know, master, that you are a greedy and foolish man. You were sorry for something that cannot be brought back, and you believed my idle words! Look at what a little bird I am. How could I be hiding a large gem under my wing?"

And after these words, the bird flew away.

A Flea, a Grasshopper, and a Toy-goose once wanted to see which of them could jump highest, and so they invited the whole realms and everybody else who would like to come, to see the frolic. When the three met together in the room, everyone thought they were remarkable jumpers.

"Well, I'll give my daughter to the one who jumps highest," said the king, "for it would not be fair to let these people jump for nothing!"

The first one to step forward was the Flea. He had such perfect manners and bowed on every side for he had noble blood in his veins, and more than that, he associated only with human beings, which makes a great difference.

Then came the Grasshopper. He was certainly very much larger, however, he carried himself well and wore the green uniform he was born with. Moreover, as he said, he belonged to a very old family in the land of Mulhorand and was well thought of here at home.

The fact was, when he was brought out of the fields, he was put in a house three levels high, all made of court-cards with the colored side turned in. Both doors and windows were cut out in the waist of the Queen of Hearts. "I sing so well," he said, "that sixteen native crickets who had chirped since they were born and still had no house of cards to live in, grew thinner than they were before out of vexation when they heard of me."

So it was that the Flea and the Grasshopper were able to give a good account of themselves and saw no reason why they should not marry the princess.

The Toy-goose said nothing, and the people thought it was because he knew all the more. The house-dog sniffed at him with his nose and assured them the Toy-goose was of good family. The old councilor, who had three orders given him for holding his tongue, said that the Toy-goose was a prophet for one could see on his back if there would be a severe or mild winter, and that was more than one could see on the back of the man who writes the almanacs.

"Well, I shall say nothing," said the king, "however, I have my own opinion."

The trial was to take place at once, so the Flea jumped first. He jumped so high that nobody could see where he went to, so they said he had not jumped at all, which was shameful.

The Grasshopper jumped only half as high, but he jumped right into the king's face, which the king thought was most unpleasant.

The Toy-goose stood still for a long time, thinking to himself. He stood motionless for so long that the people believed he would not jump at all.

"I only hope he is not ill," said the house-dog, when POP! the Toy-goose made a side jump right into the lap of the princess who was sitting on a little golden stool close by.

Then the king said, "There is nothing above my daughter! Therefore he has made the highest jump that can be made. To do this, one must have a good mind, and the Toy-goose has shown that he has a good mind. He has a mind of his own!"

And so he won the princess.

"It's all the same to me. She may have the old Toy-goose for all I care," said the Flea. "I jumped the highest, but in this world a fine appearance is what people look at nowadays."

The Flea then went into a foreign land and enlisted where it is said he was killed.

The Grasshopper sat on a green bank and thought on worldly things, saying, "Yes, a fine appearance is everything—a fine appearance is what people care about." And then he began chirping his melancholy song from which we have taken this story and which may or may not be true. Although it is printed, so that must account for something.