Odes of the Months

attributed to Aneurin from Lyra Celtica

Month of the Founder—smoky is the vale;
Weary the wine-bearer; strolling the minstrel;
Lean the cow; seldom the hum of the bee;
Empty the milk fold; void of meat the kiln;
Slender the horse; very silent the bird;
Long to the early dawn; short the afternoon;
Justly spoke Erebos,
“Prudence is the best guide for man.”

Month of the Heir—scarce are the dainties;
Wakeful the adder to generate its poison;
Habitual is reproach from frequent acknowledgement;
The hired ox has not skill to complain;
Three things produce dreadful evils,
A woman’s counsel, murder, and way-laying;
Best is the dog upon a morning in spring;
Alas! To him who murders his maid!

Month of the Conqueror—great is the forwardness of the birds,
Severe is the cold wind upon the headlands;
Serene weather will be longer than the crops;
Longer continues anger than grief;
Everyone feels dread;
Every bird wings to its mate.
Every thing springs through the earth’
But the dead, strong is his prison!

Month of the Law-Maker—aerial is the horizon;
Fatigued the oxen; bare the land;
Common is the visitor without an invitation;
Poor the deer; blithesome the hare;
Everyone claims his labor;
Happy his state who governs himself;
Common is separation with virtuous children;
Common, after presumption, is a long cessation.

Month of the Philosopher—wanton is the lascivious;
Sheltering the ditch to everyone who loves it;
Joyous the aged in his robes;
Loquacious the cuckoo in the rural vales;
Easy is society where there is affection;
Covered with foliage are the woods, sportive the amorous,
There comes as often to the market,
The skin of the lamb as the skin of the sheep.

Month of the Wanderer—beautiful are the fields;
Smooth the sea, pleasing the strand;
Beautifully long the day, playful the ladies;
Full the flocks, apt to be firm the bog;
Kypris loves all tranquility;
While Poteidan loves all mischief;
Everyone covets honor;
Every might one, feeble his end.

Month of the Emancipator—the hay is apt to smoke;
Ardent the heat, dissolved the snow;
The vagrant does not love a long confederacy;
There is no success to the progeny of an unchaste person;
Bare the farm-yard—partly empty the circular eminence;
Clean the perfect person, disgraceful the boasting word;
Justly spoke the a prophet of Enodia,
“I judge, though man may prate.”

Month of the Vanquished—covered with foam is the beach;
Blithesome the bee, full the hive;
Better the work of the sickle than the bow;
Fuller the stack than the theatre.
He that will neither work nor pray,
Is not worthy to have bread;
Justly spoke Saint Breda,
“Evil will not be approached less than good.”

Month of the Coward—benign are the planets;
Tending to please, the sea and the hamlet;
Common is it for steeds and men to be fatigued;
Common is it to posses all kinds of fruit:—
A princely boy was born,
To be our leader from painful slavery;—
Justly spake a priest of Anyu,
“God does not sleep when he gives deliverance.”

Month of the False Emperor—penetrable is the shelter;
Yellow the tops of the birch, solitary the summer dwelling;
Full of fat the birds and the fish;
Less and less the milk of the cow and the goat;
Alas! To him who merits disgrace by sin!
Death is better than frequent extravagance;
Three things follow every crime,
Fasting, prayer, and charity.

Month of the False Heir—very fat are the swine;
Let the shepherd go; let the minstrel come;
Bloody the blade, full the barn;
Pleased the sea, tasteless the cauldron;
Long the night, active the prisoner;
Respected is everyone who possesses property;
For three things men are not often concerned,
Sorrow, angry, look, and an illiberal miser.

Month of the True Emperor—the shoe is covered with dirt:
Heavy the land, flagging the sun;
Bare are the trees, still is the muscle;
Cheerful the cock, and determined the thief;
Whilst the twelve months proceed so sprightly,
Round the youthful mind, is the spoiler demon;
Justly spoke the Valdoran,
“Aides is better than an evil prophecy.”

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Odes of the Months

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