A Fiery Song For Samhain
Retelling a Celtic Halloween myth
Samhain nears, yet no
King nor merriment rule
Tara this night.
For everyone sleeps as
If dead, and only music
Haunts these flickering halls.
Through the unguarded palace
These dreamy notes flow,
And on a hill beyond
Sits their source.
The fae harper Aileen plays,
His fingers weaving sleep.
For the great goblin
Appears every Samhain Eve
To first play, then burn all.
His eyes sparkling flame
As his notes bind
Men to dreams.
But another pair of eyes,
Closed by self will,
Suddenly open.
And Fionn MacCool
Draws his great
Spear close.
For this weapon
Repels all tricks
Of the Hidden Folk.
And now it rises
With its master,
Ready for more purpose.
Aileen plucks no more,
And is now ready to scorch
Stone, wood and —
The goblin drops,
His harp falls,
His fire doused.
Fionn leaves darkness
And yanks the hot spear
Free of cold Aileen,
The goblin no more.
But Fionn does not share
The waking crowd’s cheer.
You sleep now old one
Fionn whispers.
And while Aileen
Is reclaimed by consoling soil,
His slayer laments
A fae’s passing.
©️ Emlyn Boyle 2021
I’ve always loved this particular story from Irish mythology, ever since eight-year-old me learned it in school and near Halloween too. The painting above is a solo exhibition piece (The Goblin Of Tara), my entire 2018 show being based on Irish mythology. Despite his deeds, I’ve always felt sorry for Aileen’s fate, and I love living near the Hill of Tara itself. Thanks for reading.
