Whilst researching the Buzzard for an earlier post, I came across a reference for an early Medieval German poem, Den Busart so I decided to follow suit. The story is based in our Forest and will be serialised it over the next 3 days.
The first low mist of morning stirs, through beechy boughs it weaves.
The Forest wakes with misty breath, there are murmurs in the leaves.
A wary mouse peers out from dawn, unsure of tooth or light.
It halts beneath the fallen logs, for fear of wings in flight.
A deer bends down to slake her thirst, from meandered silver stream.
Where iron bleeds through ancient clay to mark each hidden seam.
On horses fresh from stables near, they rode out to the chase.
A stirrup cup was offered round, to send them on with grace.
The reins in Reynout's hand felt firm, the horn blew loud and long,
The meute of hounds surged into cry, a wild, unbridled throng,
But then Aleidis caught his soft-lit glance, a look that drew him near,
And from the hunting line, she drew him in, and spoke softly in his ear.
Time stood, time stood still, the meute paused in their bay.
Dear Reynout, 'fore you venture forth, please take this ring and pray.
For safe deliverance from harm, and to a life kept gay,
I wish thee back and in my arms, a man to hold me dear,
With favour safe, your heart stands firm, your steadfastness made clear,
But Reynout dear, oh stray not far, I see the Ivy near.