THE ROWAN CANTICLES - Canto XV - Forbidden Love
A Tale Told in the Ancient Manner
The Rowan Canticles is an epic poem written in doggerel tetrameter. In other words, although each line contains eight syllables and rhymes with other lines nearby, like Shakespeare, I’ve used enjambment (one line spilling over into the next) here and there, especially in dialog sections. Mostly, though, I’ve striven for iambic tetrameter, which makes for a nice rhythm. You’ll notice that couplets, quatrains and other rhyme schemes refresh with each long Canticle. The old school language of The Rowan Canticles can be dense, but hey, it’s fun and it fits the fantasy.
Each week I will post a fresh Canto here at Substack, adding to the story. You’ll find ninety-nine Cantos in all contained in the three Canticles. The work is 13,000 lines long, about the length of Homer’s The Odyssey.
I hope you enjoy it!
Odds Bodkin
Don’t forget to download the companion Glossary below for definitions of archaic words to smooth your read!
CANTO XV
FORBIDDEN LOVE
Intellect's walls, firm ‘gainst all stress,
Slough all assaults, save of caress.
The greatest monolith of all
Will melt, when rains of love do fall.
All questions, philosophic, pause,
When from the well of nature draws
That most improbable of dreams:
Love recognized, a thing that gleams
Such aching light, such want, such fears,
That losing it results in tears.
The lover covets like a child,
Shortcomings quickly hid and piled
Behind the need to have and please
And swear belief on bended knees.
Within Harcto, supine and weak,
That well’s turn-wheel began to creak.
It brought forth, brimming in his eyes,
Feelings he could not analyze.
"Young boys, I daresay, follow close
One such as you," he said, morose.
The girl knelt low to stuff the sheet,
Her shut-in's bed now trim and neat,
And looked up at him, eyes opaque,
Working her hands so not to quake.
"They do and don't. Those rough and crude
Attempt by loudness to intrude
Into girls' hearts, but they are fools.
They bray their challenges like mules
And line the streets and belch in bars.
Rackle fellows, their minds are jars
Brimful of nothing save themselves.
Do Mages really dance with elves?"
"Elves? Indeed, elves . . . well, of a sort.
And with them we've a strained rapport.
Ah, yes, and dance? Well, of a kind.
Yes, dance we do, within the mind,
I 'spose, that dance being somewhat grim,
Untidy at times, not so prim
As dances normal people do.
One day, perhaps, I'll dance with you
If you the steps would demonstrate.
If it, for me, is not too late."
"Too late? But you are strong, still young!
Each leg is like an iron rung!
Your . . ." Then she stopped, a raging blush
Halting the words about to gush.
Across his loins the girl had felt,
When with Old Bretta, blood to melt,
She'd laved him gently as he slept.
She worried would he this accept?
"No verderer walks on this form
To herald trespass' touches warm.
'Tis virgin wood, my gentle nurse,
Much overgrown with briars, and worse,
I fear, its unproud desuetude
A mockery of solitude.
Besides, my claim seems tenuous,
My work, it seems, too strenuous."
"Then flummery will make it strong,
And you’ll be fit before too long,"
Said she with quick propriety.
She rose up from her bended knee
Exulting deep within her soul.
She served him blancmange in a bowl.
Fluffed hatchlings, safe within their nest,
Flout danger, still unknown, unguessed,
'Til they grow old enough to fly
And learn their safety's but a lie.
Thusly, these two now staked their claims,
Immured in whispered promises
Like two conspiring novices.
Continue to Canto XVI →
Wherein Gudrunlod, buying fish on Peloon’s wharf, is mistaken for her dead mother by an old fish monger. For the first time, she hears her mother’s name, Silya.