About two decades ago, I found a curious yet intriguing
magazine in the college bookshop at Princeton
University in New Jersey. It was Autumn and the ivy leaves on the brick
walls of this prestigious intuition were beginning to turn. I felt enlivened by
the collegiate atmosphere as well as by the brisk wind and changing foliage.
And then, when I opened The
Witches Almanac, I was drawn deeper into the mysteries of Autumn and the
ancient magic of Wiccan lore, spells and wisdom. Everything from fire-gazing
to herbal recipes for curing various ailments resonated between the pages.
What stood out as my favorite, was the legend of Lady
Sybil of Bernshaw Tower. Her story was one of noble malaise, shape-shifting and a need to be
more than ordinary. Described as a "proud and wealthy young woman" in
17th Century England ,
she felt confined by the social demands and obligations of her day. She was
drawn ( since childhood) to the landscape of forest and field along with its
secretive wild life . In time, she developed a desire to practice the art of shape-shifting
and other enchanting tasks that were associated with pagan sorcery.
She become very proficient in this craft and would run
through the woods at night, especially through the deep ravine at Cliviger Gorge in the form of a
milk-white doe. Her woodland excursions would linger throughout the night into
early dawn. Then she would return to the manor house and resume her mortal
shape and normal routine. She kept this secret from her husband and led a dual life.
He, however, suspected his wife was dabbling in the forbidden art" and forsaking her Christian faith; thus
bringing peril to her soul and the good fortune of the household. Eventually, he confronted her and she
confessed promising to give up witchcraft and atone for her wayward deeds.
In some versions, Lady Sybil relinquishes her power and allegiance to the occult on her death bed. She is forgiven by her husband and absolved of all sin. Her spirit, however, rises from the grave and still continues to haunt the woods and grounds in the form of that white deer. In my two poems, there is a slightly different twist. The first piece was written years ago when I first read about her legend. It's more or less a narrative/ballad simply defining the beauty and wonder of Lady Sybil's run through the dark woods. It praises her sense of freedom and furtive grace, her connection to nature and the transformative power of one's will and imagination. Even the lines in the first stanza ( describing her hair) deliberately linger on its texture and color to show how she is rooted spiritually in both a rustic and Christian world.
The Lady Of Bernshaw Tower
Run wild through the ravine
lovely milk-white doe,
dark-green with ivy
red-sweet with raspberry
and no one will know
of your golden hair
long as the marshland grass
clean as the brook,
and soft as candles
rippling light at evening mass.
Run wild through the
ravine
lovely milk-white doe,
the moon grinds a new dream
against a wheel of wind
and no one will know
of your beautiful hand
wearing the signet ring;
a hand that wields magic
and coins of mushroom
scatter about in the spring.
Run wild through the
ravine,
lovely milk-white doe;
the maid will lay out your gown
and shoes in the tower
so no one will know
of your journey downward
along the witch’s
path,
all vines and rock-chasm’d hill.
Fear not the morning bells,
nor your husband's wrath,
the tongues of stone,
water and timber
remain ancient and still.
_______________________________________________________
The second poem, written recently as a retrospective piece,
is more about the human struggle to change for the sake of winning the approval
and trust of a significant other. And in the process of making that change,
there is always the question of relinquishing part of one's identity and will.
While the vow to transform is given with
an earnest heart, the ache, the ghost of the natural self still haunts, often evoked by certain
creatures or events in nature, like the
cry of migrating birds or the changing phase of the moon.
And besides the woman changing for the sake of her husband
and soul, there is also the transformation of the asker. Lord William, Lady Sybil's husband, had been an avid hunter and
had suspicious of her behavior and random absences for some time. Yet, when he
forgives her and believes her to be truly redeemed, his character becomes more
tender and vulnerable. Where as his wife had metamorphosed into a wild creature
via sorcery, he through faith and need,
comes passionately seeking her renewed
affections like the deer described in psalm 42:1
As the hart panteth
after the water brooks, So panteth my soul after thee.
The irony exists not
only here in the concept of shape/soul-shifting but also in the last strophe
describing what he hears and does not hear. So absorbed in confirming his
wife's loyalty and love, he hears the kiss he placed on her hand but not the
cry of swans passing overheard. Their raw song unravels like a restlessness
that had been stitched in place. A release of something (within) that still
lingers behind in echo and want.
I
will spare him the misery
of
suspecting any move, look or mood
that
seems unnaturally mine....
From Confessions of The Bernshaw Tower
Bride
She turns
before the tilted glass
soft-footed, hair falling
long and light
like the moon
shafted
through the
wild wood
where she used
to run.
Those days now
are the fade
of nettles
damp mushrooms
and moss.
The disappearance
of a doe's
shadow
that was
white, once her own.
Candles
respire
at a steady
rate. The room calm
and covert
with oak shade
awning the
windows. She, too,
breathes
easier this night
having a
husband's trust
restored He
forgave
as she
traded ancient spells
for psalms.
Tall
and
lean-limbed he came,
not as a
hunter tracing
the heel marks
of a swift hind,
but like a
thirsty stag
longing for
the clean
tears of her
love, the sobbing
of a sorceress
redeemed. He
removed
his gloves
and took her hand
hearing only
the kiss
he issued
there
while the cry
of swans
crossing
overhead
unraveled like
thread
from a tight
stitch
that might
hold a button
or hook. The
sky's
opalescent moon.
____________________________________________
Note -- for further reading on the legacy and legend of Lady Sybil of Bernshaw Tower, here's a link to a 19th
century account of her mysterious character and behavior. http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk/england/west-yorkshire/folklore/bearnshaw-tower-and-lady-sybil.html
2 comments:
Thanks for an interesting blog on this subject! You may be interested in Bearnshaw; The Legend of the Whyte Doe, the newly released first book in the series by author Natalie Rose, an adaptation of the ancient legend of Sybil. It's set against the backdrop of Wars of the Roses England, fact & fiction is carefully woven in this enthralling re-telling of the tale. www.bearnshaw.co.uk
Wendy,
I read both poems and the info on Lady Sybil...very interesting
and your poetry, as always, delights.
Thanks for sharing the link!
As ever,
Sarah
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