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Solemn and cold over the marshes arose the evening. It became very still. Then the last pigeon went home to the trees on the dry land in the distance, whose shapes already had taken upon themselves a mystery in the haze.
As the light faded and the haze deepened, mystery crept nearer from every side. Then the stars appeared and shone in the stillness, and there was silence in the great spaces of the night
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Ooh… When the stars begin to pale,
and the light of autumn twilight color the marshland
Eh… When the seasons brings the tales
and my home hides among the rushes, I splash and dance
Treading upon the reflection
of the stars on the water
dancing until dawn
over the marshes
In my life, time goes on and on and I
am condemned to live forever, I wonder why
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Eight centuries ago on the edge of the marsh men had built the huge cathedral, or it may have been seven centuries ago, or perhaps nine—it was all one to the Wild Things. So evensong was held, and candles lighted, and the lights through the windows shone red and green in the water, and the sound of the organ went roaring over the marshes.
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Now, on the night that I tell of, a little Wild Thing had gone drifting over the waste, till it came right up to the walls of the cathedral and danced upon the images of the coloured saints as they lay in the water among the reflection of the stars.
The sound of the organ roared over the marshes, but the song and prayers of the people streamed up from the cathedral's highest tower like thin gold chains, and reached to Paradise, and up and down them went the angels from Paradise to the people, and from the people to Paradise again.
I saw the light passing through the stained-glass windows
coloring the swamp
The candle flames were reflected on the water
while I felt that my whole world was getting dark
No, now the stars are not enough
nor even the frost and the snow
neither the marsh nor the singing of the wildfowl
I only wish to have a soul
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5. |
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Then something akin to discontent troubled the Wild Thing for the first time since the making of the marshes; the little creature longed to have a soul, and to go and worship God. And when evensong was over and the lights were out, it went back crying to its kith.
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6. |
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(Instrumental)
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7. |
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I just cried for a very short time
without soul my pain disappears fast
In the flowers, a dewdrop I shed
from my tears, dry tears, dry tears…
I would like to venerate your god
and be able to feel
music that I can understand
even if time ends for me
Listen creatures, Let's make a soul
come with me, you can help me
with your memories, music and fog
and the mystical feelings
If I could feel inside of me
the forgotten beauty and the melodies
I would also have to grant a place
for pain and for all flowers that wither
I would like to venerate your god
and be able to feel
music that I can understand
even if time ends for me
Listen creatures, Let's make a soul
come with me, you can help me
with your memories, music and fog
and the mystical feelings
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8. |
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The kith of the Elf-folk went abroad by night to make a soul for the little Wild Thing. And they went over the marshes till they came to the high fields among the flowers and grasses. There they gathered a large piece of gossamer that the spider had laid by twilight; and the dew was on it.
Into this dew had shone all the lights of the long banks of the ribbed sky, as all the colours changed in the restful spaces of evening. And over it the marvellous night had gleamed with all its stars.
Then the Wild Things went with their dew-bespangled gossamer down to the edge of their home. And there they gathered a piece of the grey mist that lies by night over the marshlands. And into it they put the melody of the waste that is borne up and down the marshes in the evening on the wings of the golden plover. And they put into it, too, the mournful song that the reeds are compelled to sing before the presence of the arrogant North Wind. And to all this they added a few images of the stars that they gathered out of the water. Still the soul that the kith of the Elf-folk were making had no life.
Then they put into it the low voices of two lovers that went walking in the night, wandering late alone.
This, too, the Wild Things put into the piece of haze that they had gathered in the marshlands, and wrapped it all up in their dew-bespangled gossamer. Then the soul lived.
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9. |
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The spider appeared, a moment just before dusk
a canvas it wove, ingeniously and smart
Its cobweb harbored the tiny raindrops
and overnight they slip and drip into the dark
And the glorious frost shone with the colors
of the evening and the flashes of the water
And so, the kith of the Elf-folk, made me a mysterious soul
with the essence of sorrows and love
the Wild Things left soon, they were prepared to conceive
a soul without God with pieces of the gray mist.
they captured the song that the rush dances
and owl sings to the weeping willow under the moon
And the memories they caught from the forest
with the north winds and the highlights of the water
And so, the kith of the Elf-folk, made me a mysterious soul
with the essence of sorrows and love
And they added the voices of the lovers
and that soul lived and shone brightly in the darkness
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10. |
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And there it lay in the hands of the Wild Things no larger than a hedgehog; and wonderful lights were in it, green and blue; and they changed ceaselessly, going round and round, and in the grey midst of it was a purple flare.
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11. |
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Far away the little Wild Thing saw the cathedral windows alight for evensong, and the song of the people mounting up to Paradise, and all the angels going up and down. So it bid farewell with tears and thanks to the Wild Things of the kith of Elf-folk, and went leaping away towards the green dry land, holding the soul in its hands.
At the marsh's edge the little Wild Thing gazed for some moments over the water to where the marsh-fires were leaping up and down, and then pressed the soul against its left breast a little above the heart.
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12. |
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Turned into a mortal woman
someday I will have to die
but my soul is not allowed
to go to the sacred sky
My body in the deathbed, it would become a life song
in my chest, a strange soul lives in me over the heart.
I was born from the light of millions of stars
pretty like an angel
Now I can feel the time of the fleeting world
and I am in danger
I dressed with the flowers I covered myself with reeds
and I left in the distance, the lost marshes in the Mist
The night enveloped me, I sheltered myself
in land of strangers
a bonfire warmed me, browning my skin
and I killed my hunger
I perceived all the secrets, that were hidden in the marsh
and the life that expires, dying with an earthly cry
I was born from the light of millions of stars
pretty like an angel
Now I can feel the time of the fleeting world
and I am in danger
pretty like an angel. like an angel
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13. |
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(Instrumental)
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14. |
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She clad herself somehow with bundles of reeds, and went towards the lights of a cathedral that stood close by. And she pushed open the door and entered, and found the Dean
-I understand you were lost the other night in the marshes. It was a terrible night to be lost in the marshes.
-I love the marshes
- Indeed! How old are you?
-I don't know
-You must know about how old you are
-Oh, about ninety, or more.
-Ninety years!
-No, ninety centuries, I am as old as the marshes. I am a Wild Thing, of the kith of the Elf-folk. I longed to be a human and go and worship God, have a soul and see the beauty of the world. The Wild Things made me a soul of gossamer, mist, music and strange memories.
- But if this is true, this is very wrong. God cannot have intended you to have a soul.
What is your name?'
-I have no name
-We must find a Christian name and a surname for you.
What would you like to be called?
-Song of the Rushes
-That won't do at all
-Then I would like to be called Terrible North Wind, or Star in the Waters
-No, no, no, that is quite impossible. We could call you Miss Rush if you like. How would Mary Rush do? Perhaps you had better have another name—say Mary Jane Rush.
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15. |
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Mary Jane was sent away to a great manufacturing city of the Midlands, where work had been found for her in a cloth factory. And there was nothing in that town that was good for a soul to see.
The sky is grey, the city soon wakes up
Black cats and the dark looks are close up
Lonely men in alleyways wander
The bells ring announce the uncertain
A solemn song burning my heart, spilled its notes around
a prayer rang, shaking all souls in the cathedral dome
To this city I arrived, to work all day and sleep at night
to earn a crust
While the birds go to the ocean
flying high in the sky
I am still here, against my will, spending my time
to earn a crust
While the birds go to the ocean
flying high in the sky
I am still here, against my will, spending my time
to earn a crust
While the birds go to the ocean
flying high in the sky
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16. |
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I cannot look beyond. There’s no beauty on this side of the world
I would like to tear off this misfortune that makes me feel lost
Nobody needs here my soul. Poor people already have one
Only I want to go home, and wait for the light to be gone
I cannot look beyond. There’s no beauty on this side of the world
I would like to tear off this misfortune that makes me feel lost
Nobody needs here my soul. Poor people already have one
Only I want to go home, and wait for the light to be gone
Here everyone thinks I have lost my mind and my faith
the morning prayers, music of god, I'll never hear again
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17. |
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(Instrumental)
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18. |
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At six o'clock the factory uttered a prolonged howl and gathered the workers together, and there they worked, saving two hours for food, the whole of the daylit hours and into the dark till the bells tolled six again.
All here was ugly; even the green wool as it whirled round and round was neither the green of the grass nor yet the green of the rushes, but a sorry muddy green that befitted a sullen city under a murky sky.
And all the while the soul of Mary Jane was crying for beautiful things, and found not one.
One day at the hour when the machines rested and the human beings that tended them rested too, the wind being at that time from the direction of the marshlands, the soul of Mary Jane lamented bitterly. Then, as she stood outside the factory gates, the soul irresistibly compelled her to sing, and a wild song came from her lips, hymning the marshlands.
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Hour after hour, giant steel arms,
spinning the loom without truce
join the wool and they back to start,
in exchange for a few crumbs
I am locked into the dark
Silent are the nights, men lose hope and remain blind
Where did my freedom die?
After the day, the lights go out,
and overnight I look forward
to seeing the starlight up in the sky
shining like pale fireflies
pleased to know that they are still alive
Silent are the nights, men lose hope and remain blind
Where did my freedom die?
Silent are the nights, men lose hope and remain blind
Where did my freedom die?
Smoke through the lights, darkness in their eyes
Where did my freedom die?
My voice rises like a cry,
and the pain calms me down
Night after night my voice
singing, crying, screaming on the streets
fly through the town
winds from the north, take me now
And into her song came crying her yearning for home, and for the sound of the shout of the North Wind, masterful and proud, with his lovely lady the Snow; and she sang of tales that the rushes murmured to one another. And over the crowded streets her song went crying away, the song of waste places and of wild free lands, full of wonder and magic.
At this moment Signor Thompsoni, the well-known English tenor, happened to go by with a friend. They stopped and listened. 'There has been nothing like this in Europe in my time'
So a change came into the life of Mary Jane. People were written to, and finally it was arranged that she should take a leading part in the Covent Garden Opera.
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20. |
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I am here today for the first time, in front of your eyes
come to you from the lonely marsh
Look at me and listen to my song, I’m not what you see
I’m one of the wild things
But my curiosity betrayed me and I have come here
I left my life behind, to worship your god
I am no longer free
This pain in my chest burns my soul,
this pain burns my soul
In my soul I feel the pain
of the earthly and divine
I can't touch it with my hands
…oh, I caress the end,
the light of the stars awaits this night
So it ended, breaking in upon the end of a chatty conversation that Cecilia, Countess of Birmingham, was enjoying with a friend.
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21. |
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The whole audience was moved, a chill froze their blood, fanning their old memories
excited for my song except for someone who remained impassive
In the dead hush Mary Jane rushed from the stage; she appeared again running among the audience, and dashed up to Lady Birmingham.
She had a distant heart, dead and empty of art, unfeeling and weary
In a blink of an eye, I ripped out my soul with a mighty fury
And she clutched at her left breast a little above the heart, and there was the soul shining in her hand, with the green and blue lights going round and round and the purple flare in the midst.
Oh! Take my soul, look, it's a beautiful soul
and then you will hear the wind bringing the Song of the Rushes
Oh! Take my soul, noble and flaming soul
and then you will understand that music keeps hidden answers
Oh! Take my soul, because for me it’s a burden
Now keep it close to your heart, and then it will live forever
I'm finally free, the world is big again
I will return to my home and I will dance more than ever
Lady Birmingham took the soul in her hand. She half-closed her eyes, and said 'Unberufen'. Then she put the soul to her left breast a little above the heart, and hoped that the people would sit down and the singer go away.
Instantly a heap of clothes collapsed before her.
Those who were born in the dusk hour might have seen a little brown thing leaping free from the clothes, then it sprang into the bright light of the hall, and became invisible to any human eye.
Then it went due north-eastwards, leaping from roof to roof. Till at last the good black trees came into view, with their demoniac shapes in the night, and the grass was cold and wet, and the night-mist floated over it.
And it heard there the shout of the North Wind, who was dominant and angry, and came again to some old perilous pool where the soft green mosses grew, and there plunged downward and downward into the dear dark water till it felt the homely ooze once more coming up between its toes. Thence, out of the lovely chill that is in the heart of the ooze, it arose renewed and rejoicing to dance upon the image of the stars.
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22. |
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And there was a great rejoicing all that night among the kith of the Elf-folk.
Over the star lights reflected on the water, oh
night after night we will dance until the end
Over the star lights reflected on the water, oh
night after night we will dance until the end
Over the star lights reflected on the water, oh
night after night we will dance until the end
Over the star lights reflected on the water, oh
night after night we will dance until the end
Over the star lights reflected on the water, oh
night after night we will dance until the end
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23. |
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(Instrumental)
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"The Wild Things are somewhat human in appearance, only all brown of skin and barely two feet high. Their ears are pointed like the squirrel's, only far larger, and they leap to prodigious heights. They live all day under deep pools in the loneliest marshes, but at night they come up and dance. Each Wild Thing has over its head a marsh-light, which moves as the Wild Thing moves; they have no souls, and cannot die, and are of the kith of the Elf-folk."
Album inspired by the story of Lord Dunsany “The Kith of the Elf-Folk) included in the book “The Sword of Welleran and Other Stories”. This work is a remake in English of the album "Canción of the Juncos" by An Danzza of the year 2011
*narrations are in the Public Domain
Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, 18th Baron of Dunsany; (24 July 1878 – 25 October 1957) was an Anglo-Irish writer and dramatist; his work, mostly in the fantasy genre, was published under the name Lord Dunsany. More than ninety books of his work were published in his lifetime, and both original work and compilations have continued to appear. Dunsany's œuvre includes many hundreds of published short stories, as well as plays, novels and essays. He achieved great fame and success with his early short stories and plays, and during the 1910s was considered one of the greatest living writers of the English-speaking world; he is today best known for his 1924 fantasy novel The King of Elfland's Daughter and The Gods of Pegāna, where he devised his own fictional pantheon and laid the groundwork for the Fantasy genre.
