The legend of Róisín Dubh
By Theo Stoof
Many score years after the greatest hero of the western hemisphere, Cú
Chulaind, son of the god Lug, made his last stand before the army of Medb
the queen of Connachta, there lived in Ériu near Briug na Bóinde a
council
of Druids. Apart from the common knowledge of Druids, these Druids had a
vast amount of forbidden knowledge of the Ways of Nature, that earned them
an almost godlike reverence from the common people and an envious attitude
from their peer Druids. It was whispered that even Síde, the people of
the
otherworld, who were also known as the Túatha Dé Danand, marvelled at
their
deeds and feared their wrath.
These Druids wore black and red robes on which their symbol, the Róisín
Dubh, the Black Rose, was visible. They lived in a small mansion which
none
other than they ever entered. At night an eery light wich slowly varied
from
one unnatural colour to another shone through the few windows of the
house,
but this never flickered like that of a candle or fire. Sometimes loud
noises such as supernatural songs and ecstatic screams were heard coming
from the mansion, and in surrounding villages it was rumoured that the
Druids feasted upon the bodies of the dead at night.
The council of the Róisín Dubh numbered ten Druids and only the
following
was known about them. There was Íain the Silent who spoke only scant
words
during the day and who seemed to do so only very reluctantly. Secondly
there
was Fréot the Bright Eyed who was believed to be able to reflect the sun
with his eyes in any direction he chose to and who seemed to like the
presence of dire straits. Thirdly there was Béoirt the Nasty of whom it
was
whispered that his thoughts were solely devoted to filthy subjects too
horrendous to mention and who was sometimes seen throwing orange fireballs
into baskets attached to walls. Fourthly there was Páill the Cursing who
was
said to have turned various innocent villagers into unamable things only
by
means of his terrible, carefully woven spells. Fifthly there was Lláeonn
the
Pigherd of whom it was said that he did things of such abomination with
his
herd that no healthy man would ever be able to remain sane at the sheer
thought of them, and who was invariably seen with an instrument that was
able to send shivers down the bravest man's spine with its ghastly sounds.
Sixthly there was Stéif the Rude who was widely known for his complete
lack
of any form of elementary politeness and good manners and who was supposed
to have knowledge of any Geiss. Of him it was said that he had once been
cursed so that it was now impossible for him to give his tongue a moment's
rest. Seventhly there was Mbairc the Balding of whom it was rumoured that
he
was born with his head fully covered with hair but that his hairline had
been receding from the moment of his birth. He was seen extremely often
waving long shiny sticks towards the ground in order to hit small white
crystal balls that in the end invariably disappeared into the earth.
Eighthly there was Haíllíui the Sorceress who was the only woman in the
council. She was sometimes observed around noon eating the most revolting
combinations of food her wicked and twisted mind could conceive of and was
regularly seen trying to lead little girls into the realms of her
forbidden
knowledge. Ninthly there was Ttwaind the Wild who was believed to be the
son
of a dragon because of the fact that he exhaled smoke on every occasion.
His
appearance was mostly feared by worried parents who feared for their
daughter's virtues. Tenthly there was Táeói the Foul Tempered who was
feared
much for his sharp tongue, his rapidly changing moods and his negative
attitudes. He was known to be able to call up without incantations a
body-paralysing, mind-wasting and senses-numbing breeze with an odour that
no smell from a rotting corpse of a bubonic plague victim could surpass.
The only further thing known about the council of the Róisín Dubh is the
fact that after terrorising the country for more than fourscore years the
mansion in which the council had lived for all those years was attacked by
inhabitants of the surrounding villages who were helped by envious Druids.
In the following battle the mansion and all the forbidden knowledge of the
council was destroyed. Less is known about the fate of the Druids of the
council. Some boldly proclaim them to be mercilessly slaughtered by the
enraged mob, but bodies were never found and therefore others more
carefully
whisper that the Druids of the Black Rose are not dead but lie asleep in a
place only known to them and that they will rise from their tombs in the
distant future to scourge the face of the earth once again ...
Little Black Rose (17th to 19th centuries)
[this is actually about Ireland, but could be used for a person]
Roisin, have no sorrow for all that has happened to you
the Friars are out on the brine,. they are travelling the sea
your pardon from the Pope will come, from Rome in the East
and we won't spare the Spanish wine for my Roisin Dubh
Far have we journeyed together, since days gone by.
I've crossed over mountains with her, and sailed the sea
I have cleared the Erne, though in spate, at a single leap
and like music of the strings all about me, my Roisin Dubh
You have driven me mad, fickle girl- may it do you no good!
My soul is in thrall, not just yesterday nor today
You have left me weary and weak in body and mind
O deceive not the one who loves you, my Roisin Dubh
I would walk in the dew beside you, or the bitter desert
in hopes I might have your affection, or part of your love
Fragrant small branch, you have given your word you love me
the choicest flower of Munster, my Roisin Dubh
If I had six horses, I would plough against the hill-
I'd make Roisin Dubh my Gospel in the middle of Mass-
I'd kiss the young girl who would grant me her maidenhead
and do deeds behind the lios with my Roisin Dubh!
The Erne will be strong in flood, the hills be torn
the ocean will be all red waves, the sky all blood,
every mountain and bog in Ireland will shake
one day, before she shall perish, my Roisin Dubh.
Sites:
Róisín Dubh
http://www.paulvr.cistron.nl/roisin.htm
Irish Love Poems
http://www.hylit.com/info/Poetry/Irishlovepoems.html
Rose Glossary
http://www.mc.edu/campus/users/nettles/rofaq/rofaq-glos.html#blackroses
MacWard, dates from the 16th century
Roísín Dubh by Owen Roe MacWard
A Ro/isi/n na/ bi/odh bro/n ort fa/r e/irigh dhuit-
ta/ na bra/ithre ag dul ar sa/ile is iad ag triall ar muir,
tiocfaigh do phardu/n o/a bPa/pa is o/n Ro/imh anoir
is ni/ spa/ra/ilfear fi/on Spa/inneach ar mo Ro/isi/n Dubh.
Is fada an re/im a lig me/ le/i o/ inne/ do dti/ inniu,
trasna sle/ibhte go ndeachas le/i is mo sheo/lta ar muir;
An E/irne scoithe si/ de le/im i/ ce/ gur mo/r e/ a sruth;
is mar cheo/l te/ad ar gach taobh di a bhi/onn mo Ro/isi/n Dubh.
Mhearaigh tu/ me/, a bhrado/g, is na/r ba fearrde dhuit,
's go bhfuil m'anam istigh i ngean ort is ni/ inne/ na/ inniu.
D'fha/g tu/ lag anbhann me/ i ngne/ is i gcruth;
na/ feall orm is me/ i gnean ort, a Ro/isi/n Dubh.
Shiu/fainn fe/in an dru/cht leat is fa/saigh goirt
mar shu/il go bhfaighinn ru/n uait no/ pa/irt ded thoil;
a chraoibhi/n chumhra, gheallais damhsa go raibh gra/ agat dom,
is gurb i/ plu/rscoth na Mumhan i/ mo Ro/isi/n Dubh.
Da/ mbeadh seisreach agam threabhfainn in aghaidh na gcnoc
is dhe/anfainn soisce/al i la/r an aifrinn do mo Ro/isi/n Dubh;
bhe/arainn po/g don chaili/n o/g a bhe/arfadh a ho/ighe dhom
is dhe/anfainn cleas an leasa le mo Ro/isi/n Dubh.
Beidh an E/irne 'na tuilte tre/ana is re/abfar cnoic,
beidh an fharraige 'na tonnta dearga is an spe/ir 'na fuil,
beidh gach gleann sle/ibhe ar fud E/ireann is mo/inte ar crith,
la/ e/igin sula n-e/agfaidh mo Ro/isi/n Dubh.
Small Black Rose (translation Padraic Pearse)
Little Rose, be not sad for all that hath behapped thee:
The friars are coming across the sea, they march on the main.
From the Pope shall come thy pardon, and from Rome, from the East-
And stint not Spanish wine to my Little Dark Rose.
Long the journey that I made with her from yesterday till today,
Over mountains did I go with her, under the sails upon the sea,
The Erne I passed by leaping, though wide the flood,
And there was string music on each side of me and my Little Dark Rose!
Thou hast slain me, O my bride, and may it serve thee no whit,
For the soul within me loveth thee, not since yesterday nor today,
Thou has left me weak and broken in mien and in shape,
Betray me not who love thee, my Little Dark Rose!
I would walk the dew with thee and the meadowy wastes,
In hope of getting love from thee, or part of my will,
Frangrant branch, thou didst promise me that thou hadst for me love-
And sure the flower of all Munster is Little Dark Rose!
Soft modest Little Rose of the round white breasts,
'Tis thou hast left a thousand pains in the centre of my heart:
Fly with me, my hundred loves, and leave the land,
And if I could would I not make a Queen of thee, my Little Dark Rose!
Had I a yoke of horses I would plough against the hills,
In middle-Mass I'd make a gospel of my Little Dark Rose,
I'd giva a kiss to the young girl that would give her mouth to me,
And behind the liss would lie embracing my Little Dark Rose!
The Erne shall rise in rude torrents, hills shall be rent,
The sea shall roll in red waves, and blood be poured out,
Every mountain glen in Ireland, and the bogs shall quake
Some day ere shall perish my Little Dark Rose!
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