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CELTIC TREE LORE - ANCIENT POEMS 1


Fergus man who for the feast of the back, light the fire,
Whether afloat or ashore, never burn the king of the forest.
Monarch of the forests of Innisfail is the honeysuckle, whom no one has to make it captive.
No effort is weak sovereign embrace all the trees in a vigorous hug.
If the docile honeysuckle to ignite fire has plenty cries of misfortune.
Horrible acuity in the tips of the weapons, or drowning under waves stoneware succeed him.
Do not burn the precious apple tree branch and widespread decline,
Always tree covered with white flowering toward which all the men cup beautiful stretch your hand.
The blackthorn is a sullen drifter, a timber that the architect will not start.
For all of his body although brief, Gorj birds in flocks.
Do not burn the noble sauce, is sacred tree in the poems.
In its flowering foraging bees, like all of that small cage.
Burn the slender tree berries, the tree of the sorcerer, ash,
Dispenses with the flexible shaft, not to burn slim hazel.
Black is the color of ash, wood, which makes the wheels move. Ornaments their rods rider's hands, it turns the battle into flight.
Disturbing the trees is the wonderful wild rose, quémalo it is so green and poignant,
Short, scourge feet, you inevitably back to who has to move on.
The more impetuous giver of heat among all the woods, that the green oak,
No one can escape from the not damaged.
For your pleasure the head is subjected to pain, and his eye is the embers acres resentful.
Alder, the sorcerer battles all over the woods, tree in the most spirited battle,
Undoubtedly burn at your discretion so as alder thorns.
Ash, burn it green, holly, burn it dry.
Regardless of all the trees decidedly holly is the best.
Sauco which has strong bark, tree that really hurts with pain.
Here the decks cabalgaduras of hosts feéricos, quémalo so that it becomes charcoal.
So too birch, who will be torn down, promises lasting fortune.
Fired with security and indeed the stems of perennial pods.
Make suffer, both where it complacerte, to tremble to russet fall whole body,
Fired sooner or later, the tree branch that holds inert.
Patriarch of forests is the eternal yew, sacred to the holidays, as is well known.
Building of the now-dim red vats of good size.
Your Ferdedh the Faithful, but do not meet my requirements,
For your soul and your body, Oh man, it will be because of profit.
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