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I am older than Brigit of the Mantle,
I put songs and music on the wind
Before ever the bells of the chapels
Were rung in the West
Or heard in the East.
I am Brighid-nam-Bratta:
Brigit of the Mantle,

I am also Brighid-Muirghin-na-tuinne:
Brigit, Conception of the Waves,

And Brighid-sluagh,
Brigit of the Faery Host,

Brighid-nan-sitheachseang,
Brigit of the Slim Faery Folk,

Brigid-Binne-Bheule-
Ihuchd-nan-trusganan-uaine,
Brigit the Melodious Mouthed
Of the Tribe of the Green Mantles.

And I am older than Aone (Friday)
And as old as Luan (Monday)

And in Tir-na-h’oige my name is
Suibhal: Mountain Traveler,

And in Tir-fo-thuinn, Country of the Waves,
It is Cu-gorm: Gray Hound,

And in Tir-na-h’oise,
Country of Ancient Years,
It is Sireadh-thall: Seek Beyond.

And I have been a breath in your heart,
And the day has its feet to it
That will see me coming
Into the hearts of men and women
Like a flame upon dry grass,
Like a flame of wind in a great wood.

Fiona MacLeod / William Sharp

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Brìde of the Mantle
Brìde of the Hearth
Brìde of the Golden Hair
Brìde of the Frìth

Brìde of the White Feet
Brìde of the Calmness
Brìde of the White Palms
Brìde of the Kine

Brìde of the Flocks
Brìde of the Well
Brìde of the Poet’s Song
Brìde of the Forge

Brìde of the Guiding star
Brìde of the Spring
Brìde of the Ashless flame
Brìde of the Dawn

Brìde of the Girdle
Brìde of the Cros
Brìde of the People
Gabhaim Molta Brìde!

Adapted and added to by myself from the Carmina Gadelica, verse 263. Please do not reproduce without permission.

May Brigit give blessing
To the house that is here…
Brigit, the fair and tender,
Her hue like the cotton grass.
Rich-tressed maiden,
Of ringlets of gold;
Both crest and frame,
Both stone and beam;
Both clay and wattle;
Both summit and foundation;
Both window and timber;
Both foot and head;
Both man and woman;
Both wife and children;
Both young and old;
Both maiden and youth.
From: The Sun Dances  Prayers and Blessings from the Gaelic, Alexander Carmichael

Kilmeny

Bonnie Kilmeny gaed up the glen;
But it wasna to meet Duneira's men,
Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see,
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.
It was only to hear the yorlin sing,
And pu' the cress-flower round the spring;
The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye,
And the nut that hung frae the hazel tree;

Kilmeny, James Hogg