The great owl who'd been perched on a bough, high above the assembly, glanced down at the wren and heard him speak. As if in response, the owl spread out his snowy wings and glided to the earth, standing almost at the edge of the firepit. The bird's tone, though solemn, was not unkindly as he turned to address the wren and the others in the circle. His speech, like that of the other animals, was not the common tongue used by Man, but the ancient language of the Elves that some call Quenyan. In his snowy plumage, the owl looked much like a wizard with billowing white robes.
"Has not your mother told you the tale?" the owl gently chastised the wren. "On this, the longest night of the year, when the Yule log crackles on the hearth, all the creatures of the field and woods come together and speak the old tongue, the father of all words. And strange pictures leap out of the dying flames to remind us creatures of what we must do tonight."
A small rabbit rushed to the front of the crowd, breaking loose from his mother's stern grasp, and ran over to where the embers smoldered, his voice laced with wonder, "I see a picture. I do see it. There are wonderful trees dancing in the flames.....apple and cherry trees, I do believe." He glanced over shyly at the owl and asked, "But what does this mean?"
"Do they teach nothing to children these days?" The owl grumbled under his breath. Out loud he said, "But this is the night when the earth comes alive. We must go wassailing and sing to the trees so they will bring forth blooms in the spring and then the sweet fruit."
Just at this moment, a line of fruit trees sitting just outside the courtyard of the Inn began waving their branches and leaning far over the fence as if calling out for a song. The owl piped up and began his verse:
Quote:
Oh lily white lily your lily white pin,
Please to come out & let us come in.
Lily your lily your lily white smock’
Please to come out & pull back the lock.
|
A great bear lumbered up pushing a gigantic barrell that had been left at the cellar door, which was filled with last fall's cider. He sat down squarely on the cask and broke open the wood casing so the cider ran out in pools. Quickly, the animals scampered forward to drink and soon all were singing quite loudly and just a bit off key:
Quote:
Our wassail, jolly wassail
And joy come to our jolly wassail
How well they may bloom, how well they may bear
So that we may have apples and cider next year.
Oh master and mistress oh are you within?
Please to come out and pull back the pin
There was an old farmer and he had an old cow,
wanted to milk her but didn’t know how.
He put his old cow down in an old barn,
and a little more cider won’t do us no harm.
Harm me boys harm, harm me boys harm,
and a little more cider won’t do us no harm.
The girt dog of Langport, he burnt his long tail,
And this is the night we go singing Wassail,
O Master and missus oh we must be gone,
We invoke Varda's blessing 'til we come again.
Oh the ringles and the jingles
and the tenor of the song go: merrily
Merrily, merrily, oh the tenor of the song goes: Merrily
Hatfulls, capfulls, three bushel bagfulls
and a little heap under the stars.
Hip hip hooray!
|