Of Agrona and the Great Sorrow, Part I

The days of Taranis, Great King of Old
Were many and blessed with peace
Brenin Cythraul* with his withered heart
Saw the joy and greatness of Taranis
And wist that he had it not.
 
Into the hearts of men he entered
A sickness spread among them
And their blood ran hot in their veins
Seeking to destroy the fair folk
Many oathes they swore
Cursing the seas, skies, and groves
Of the blessed land of Afallach
 
Madness took their kings and lords
Deep in the earth they delved
For iron to forge spears and swords
To fall upon fair Ynys Afallach
And take possession of her evermore
 
Taranis called the mighty host 
Of Avalon to sally forth
To meet the mortals in their fields
And grind their pride into the ground
Before they could the fair lands reach
And despoil where wealth could be found
 
Red that day dawned, and red it would end
Drenched in a river of blood
The hosts of Ynys Afallach
Spears like a forest, banners like clouds
Songs of a victory they would never see
They sung that morning, praising their might
For even the wise cannot see all ends
 
Men waited in ambush for the blessed host
Like cravens skulking in their holes
Their spears sharp, swords keen
Holocausts made to their base gods
Bleeding themselves to seal their victory
And the hordes of Hadessa and Sheol
Hidden ‘neath the earth, thirsty for war
And only the blood of the Fair
Could slake the thirst that parched their lips