GreatFeast
of
Beltaine
As dusk settles over the land
upon the Eve of May,
the fires of the village are doused.
one by one the points of light wink out
until darkness rules over all.
then all the folk,
from gammer to babe in arms,
tread the spiral pathway
to the sacred grove,
they bring cakes and ale
for the feast to follow.
they are greeted every one
by the Druid of the Grove,
blessed with the lustral water,
Vervain, herb of Grace,
gathered at the Rising of the Dog Star.
Gifted with the cup of life,
the Blood of the Son who is born
to the Mother of All
and quiet in a circle
they sit in darkness
and await the coming
of the Golden One.
then by hidden signal
starts the kindling of the Need Fire
the twirling cords, the whirling cords,
at last the errant spark of flame,
the fire from heaven,
lights upon the kindling
and the new fire is raised.
The deep drums beat the rhythm of life,
New life is come,
The Son of the Mother is Born.
now let the feasting begin.
raise the cup high,
pass the platter sunwise
around the circle.
here are the fruits of the earth,
honeycake and mead.
Two fires now ablaze,
the herdsmen drive the herds
between them as a Ward gainst Evil,
and a Blessing on their Increase.
now come the jugglers of Fire,
the whirling tongues of flame,
the fire wheels revolving through the dark.
now are the shadows cast back
as the great fires blossom, one by one,
on the dark hilltops across the realm.
couples leap hand in hand
through the cleansing fire,
through the gate of darkness
we have come into the light
now the fire to embers
the crone prepares the cake
one portion will select the queen
from amongst the giggling girls.
The Mooncake is broken,
the Crone mumbles her mysteries
as the Damsels vie for the coin
that lies Hidden within.
and lo, the moon is discovered,
the May Queen chosen,
the crown of may-blossom bestowed,
the moon drawn down.
Old folk gather the young,
and carefully carry embers away
to their hearthstones
to kindle anew the coming of spring.
the Queen calls her Court around her,
commands the Harpers to play,
and her Maidens to dance
the circular dance of life.
they dance barefoot
with flowers in their hair.
now drums and pipes as the young bucks
lead a wild unruly dance,
whirling, winding through the glade,
sweeping up all in its path.
and at the last
the firelights glow reflected
in the shining eyes of delight.
anon they sleep in a tumble
of limbs and furs and greenery,
dawn is not far off.
“Month of May, the finest time
birds are loud, growth is green
ploughs are in the furrow, the ox in the yoke
the sea is green, the land many coloured.”
( Black Book of Carmarthen )