by G. R. Grove
On your white horse so slowly you rode,
yet none could catch you unless you so willed —
ambling along on the hot dusty road,
teasing the watchers upon their green hill.
One, then another, although they rode fast,
loud hoof beats pounding along in your wake,
failed in your catching, until one who came
and begged you to stop for your true lover’s sake.
He was the one – you had come for his finding,
making your plans, to implore him to wed,
and he agreed; then you promised him feasting
a year from that night, and your sweet bridal bed.
But though he had wisdom, and generous his heart,
cleverness lacking, he almost lost you.
Quickly you thought, and you taught him his part,
to overcome ill, and to win you anew.
At last you were married; a son from your bed,
new-born and helpless, was snatched in the night.
Though others blamed you, you husband was true
and kept you his wife in his nobles’ despite.
Long your false penance, but patient you sat
and bore it by bearing all comers; at last
your child was restored, and your suffering done:
Worry, you named him; your worry was past.
When your lord died, you sorrowed some while,
and worried anew when your son went to war;
but homeward he came, and forgetting the past,
you welcomed the new lord he brought to your door.
Trouble and joy both before you still lay;
but this man, you found, would not bend to your will.
Yet he was wiser, you learned, in his way
than the lord first who watched you atop his green hill.
On your white horse so slowly you ride,
and always around you the song of your birds —
may my voice rise now as sweetly as theirs,
and long, O Rhiannon, your praises be heard!
