Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BELTANE (FIRE OF GOD), by MARGARETTE BALL DICKSON



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BELTANE (FIRE OF GOD), by                    
First Line: Red flares the pile with the flames mounting higher
Last Line: God of the fire rides forth at the dawn!
Subject(s): Battleships; Death; Fire; War; Dead, The


Red flares the pile with the flames mounting higher,
Turning to copper November's lead sky;
Flames such as Dido sent forth from her pyre,
Lighting Aeneas and sending soul-cry
Forth on the waters turned flame with the glowing
As the huge billows tossed ruby red spray,
So the low clouds, scudding hither are showing
Scarlet and crimson, entwisted with gray.

Pile the wood higher! The mistletoe clinging
To that huge oak on the rim of the cairn,
Lately, was found. See the stones men are bringing,
From the huge crags of some mountain were borne.
Pattern the Cromlech with high-tabled altar;
Ray the huge stones from the centre afar;
Rend some huge monolith. Nay, never falter
Till stones are lodged at each point of the star!

Full thirty yards from the centre, outflowing,
Ray the huge arms of this pattern of praise.
Glory to Be-al, the One, the All-knowing!
Pile the wood higher to honor his ways!
Mistletoe, sent as the plant of all-healing;
Mistletoe, beautiful, precious, long-sought ...
See! The white bulls with their burdens are reeling
Bearing the victims so loth to be brought.

There, white-robed priests to their gods are appealing
That so rich sacrifice be not in vain;
Here, frantic mothers their farewells are sealing
To the sad victims so soon to be slain.
Up in the tree-tops, the Druids are cutting
Branches of mistletoe; gold sickles gleam;
Down-dropped, the branches are caught (up-ward jutting)
In the white mantles of priests. Like a dream

Flows the grim pageantry. Smoke spirals screen it.
After the sacrifice, bright coals we take
Off the grim altar where late we have seen it
With all its portents. The home-altar wake:
All the hearth-fires put out at our leaving,
Wake once again into blaze while we sing
Many old chants of our loving and grieving;
Many old battles where glory held swing!

High on the altar was wrought a huge creature;
Hollow of form, made of boughs interlaced.
Into this mold lay the victims! Some teacher
Of the dim past taught that sacrifice graced
Battles to come; so the whole must be lighted,
For fair Bonduca leads now in the wars
Against Suetonious. Rome must be frighted
And all her legions hurled forth from our doors!

Pile the wood higher! Go on with the straining!
Heralds will blow their wild trumpets at dawn;
Rome's weakened hosts are of hunger complaining—
Pile the wood higher, the struggle is on!
Shall we bow down to proud Rome and her eagles?
Shall we bend knee to the Tiber again?
Or shall we live as untamed as the sea gulls?
Pile the wood higher, and quit ye like men.

Over the flames, bits of mistletoe, brewing
Melt into potions of healing and power;
Up on the rafters old mistletoe strewing
Keeps off the evils of some darkened hour.
Pile the wood higher! Our bards shall re-waken
All of the glory of ages long gone.
Pile the wood higher! for Ba-el the Unshaken,
God of the Fire rides forth at the Dawn!





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