For our version (see www.myspace.com/venereumarvum - song #3 on the player) we took the verses from the footnote on page 169 of The White Goddess by Robert Graves*, of which he says A charming though emasculated version of the same poem [the Irish Ossianic Song of the Forest Trees to be found in Standish O' Grady's translation in E.M.Hull's Poem Book of the Gael] is to be found on Dartmoor. Fortunately, the whole text of Poem Book of the Gael (1913) is on-line Here, from which I've extracted the poem to save you the bother of wading through the somewhat unwieldy document (however so rewarding such wading can be!).
SONG OF THE FOREST TREES
O MAN that for Fergus of the feasts dost kindle fire, Whether afloat or ashore burn not the king of woods.
Monarch of Innisfail's forests the woodbine is, whom none may hold captive ; No feeble sovereign's effort is it to hug all tough trees in his embrace.
The pliant woodbine if thou burn, wailings for mis- fortune will abound, Dire extremity at weapons' points or drowning in great waves will follow.
Burn not the precious apple-tree of spreading and low- sweeping bough ; Tree ever decked in bloom of white, against whose fair head all men put forth the hand.
The surly blackthorn is a wanderer, a wood that the artificer burns not ; Throughout his body, though it be scanty, birds in their flocks warble.
The noble willow burn not, a tree sacred to poems ; Within his bloom bees are a-sucking, all love the little cage.
The graceful tree with the berries, the wizard's tree, the rowan, burn ; But spare the limber tree ; burn not the slender hazel.
Dark is the colour of the ash ; timber that makes the wheels to go ; Rods he furnishes for horsemen's hands, his form turns battle into flight.
Tenterhook among woods the spiteful briar is, burn him that is so keen and green ; He cuts, he flays the foot, him that would advance he forcibly drags backward.
Fiercest heat-giver of all timber is green oak, from him none may escape unhurt ; By partiality for him the head is set on aching, and by his acrid embers the eye is made sore.
Alder, very battle-witch of all woods, tree that is hottest in the fight Undoubtedly burn at thy discretion both the alder and whitethorn.
Holly, burn it green ; holly, burn it dry ; Of all trees whatsoever the critically best is holly. Elder that hath tough bark, tree that in truth hurts sore; Him that furnishes horses to the armies from the sidh burn so that he be charred.
The birch as well, if he be laid low, promises abiding fortune ; Burn up most sure and certainly the stalks that bear the constant pods.
Suffer, if it so please thee, the russet aspen to come head- long down ; Burn, be it late or early, the tree with the palsied branch.
Patriarch of long-lasting woods is the yew, sacred to feasts, as is well-known ; Of him now build ye dark-red vats of goodly size.
Ferdedh, thou faithful one, wouldst thou but do my behest : To thy soul as to thy body, O man, 'twould work advantage.
Translation: Standish Hayes O'Grady
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* These are the same words (& the same source) as used by Robin Williamson on the album A Glint at the Kindling, albeit without the Sirs. I've always understood the chorus to be a later addition (by Johnny Collins?). There is no traditional melody for this song - we wrote the one we use, although we couldn't get away from Robin's Sirs. I might add that the Digitrad lyrics given Here are Robin Williamson's adaptation; the chorus here is Robin's. Maybe this should be made clear? This thread has lots of deleted spam following this last message, so the thread is closed for now. If you need to post, contact any moderator to reopen it. ---mudelf