Puritan's Bane

Trees whisper, whose roots entwine deep 1
In woods on the downs, pagan histories sleep,
Larks murmur through crisp spring air
On May's month, one morn fair.
Nature wakens from slumberous repose high 5
On hillock's summit as daylight draws nigh.
Overlooking carven gorges below,
Mists swirl as the subtle breezes blow.
Spurring ancient haze from darkness rest
Twining, coiling in submission, the day to bless. 10
Sunrays leak through rich thick mist,
Splitting trees' leaves until the last wisp
Weaves and squirms to the sky deep blue,
Night has gone, the dawn now new.
As the moment passes a grumble begins, 15
Smokes smear from roofs, the lark sings.
Smells of coarse bread to pagans who arise
On full stomachs as was wise,
For 'twas not long since to their chamber retreat
They who made mirth and feast did eat, 20
And long played pipes round dancing fire
Mingling with mist, kindling heart's desire,
Songs hearty and merry to enchanting rhyme,
Stories of old from such time
Of heroic deeds and valour recalled 25
The storyteller who most enthralled
His company with hazy eyesight
To which moon and fire did unite
Pagan, fog, music mystifying.
All sat round till flames were dying 30
And rose to rest to rise again
With sunlight, fresh brisk wind and rain.
Thus they go about their daily chore,
One for each pagan whom none did ignore.
Herding cattle, nurturing earth, 35
Harmonised with nature, land of their birth.

****

Drums in the deep, trees stir, the lark mute,
Horns not of welcome, more retribute,
Nearing with time, short distance away,
Crude language, barking, baying, disarray. 40
Ablaze the woods in orange swallowed,
The lark flees and by him followed
Black smog consuming the sky
Pouring from the hills up high.
From the thick emerge riders orange clad 45
And faces of dread the pagans had
As they looked upon their ruthless foe
Who tearing down to pillage below,
To innocent faces take they no heed,
Cleansing, reforming, purifying their need. 50
Peasants falling to the earth so swift
Whilst orange flames downhill start to drift
Engulfing earthly dwellings and temple spiritual,
Biting, hacking, burning as was ritual.
Till all but one of the pagans were slain, 55
On roof of smouldering temple cried she in pain.
From her lips came ultimate wail,
The opening prophecy of such tale
Of woe and dread, 'The Cry of Foresight'
Coming to her from god's might. 60
Eyes capturing she had of imperishable flame
That pierceth hearts of those to blame.
Thus she spake in such humble wrath
The first stone of treacherous path: 65

"Lo! Whilst thou pillage in merciless crusade,
Upon the tyrant's sons a curse shall be laid
To utter their doom until the great end,
Into meaningless solitude shall them send.
Such utter recurrence each generation hence 70
Would be born into fate from your expense.
Thus the sons of the sons of the tyrant present,
Upon this ground of ancestors will resent
That thou be as foolish as to vanquish
A God-serving community who in our anguish, 75
Curse thee for thine ignorance,
How rash thou hast been.
Working stealthily till dusk of time,
The prophecy shall lurk unseen.