Relentless Mist (Celtic Rain)
6/8, moderately fast, a ballad of the huntress
A story of the lady of the Lake.
Inspired by the legends of Niniane the Huntress and of Pwyll prince of Dyfed.

The lowest trees receive the rain,
The richest lords endure pain,
The sting of love bites kings and beggars,
And Celtic Rain crowns all.

In ages past the huntress sought,
To hunt the beast of legends,
Relentless mists would be her fate,
In the hills of Wales and Scotland,
The stag appeared, but only ever
Just beyond the huntress' reach,
Into the mist they plunged with ardour,
An ageless dance to never cease.

As with those who came before her,
Her prey had led her on,
Her way revealed, the mist uncurl'd,
But the world she knew was gone.

Upon her head a crown descended,
Not of jewels, silver or gold,
A diadem of mist and moonlight,
A lake of glass for a home. / (With dreams from all to behold.)
Again the hart stood gleaming silver,
Just beyond the huntress' reach,
Into the mists they plunged with joy,
An dance of love to never cease.

The lowest trees receive the rain,
The richest lords endure pain,
The sting of love bites kings and beggars,
And Celtic Rain, crowns all.

Copyright 2015 Samuel J. Lawson

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