Ayden and Aoibhinn
She walked amongst the flowers in the sun
On the hill ‘bove where the river had fun.
Flowers of red, orange, yellow, and blue
Were sought out by butterflies as they flew.
Her hair shown more golden than did the light
Making her look like some otherworld sprite.
Upon her head she wore a soft garland
Of flowers woven by a knowing hand.
Her basket was a sea of bright colors.
Her eyes were painted by watercolors.
The king’s nephew was riding on his way
Towards his home in Castle Adelay.
Fresh from battle with ‘nother petty king,
Good news of great victory did he bring.
As he boldly rode with his retinue
He spied such beauty only angels knew.
He rode reverently to her presence,
Awed at her pure beauty’s luminescence.
Dismounting, at the first he could not speak.
Overcome, her beauty made his knees weak.
“Fair maid, are you an angel from above,
Or a fairy meant to smite me with love?
Never has such beauty touched this bleak earth,
For until now we did not know our dearth.
I am Ayden of Adelay, your slave.
Please give your name to this poor wretched knave.”
So said Ayden as he kneeled before her.
His wits he struggled vainly to gather.
Holding her soft hand in his, he trembled;
So soft it made his heart greatly troubled.
“The daughter of Niall the King am I
And to marry King Remy in July,
An old man thrice my own age, it is said.
To be the wife of an old man I dread.
But kings oft must make their alliances
And daughters may not make defiances.”
Still holding his strong hand she looked into
His blue eyes, which were of a startling hue.
At that moment love for him filled her heart,
That very same love he felt from the start.
“More beautiful and welcome to the eyes
Are you than a bright spring morning’s sunrise.
Fair lady, I must have your lovely name
So my heart’s wild beating I can then tame.”
So said Ayden in calm desperation
As he felt fitted the situation.
With bated breath he waited her reply.
His sincere request she could not deny.
At first, she did not speak a single word
And in his breast greater desire was stirred.
“The name by which I am called is Aoibhinn
And now that I know yours we are even.
O Prince, you are a delight to my eyes.
You are everything for which my heart cries.
But what chance do we have for love fulfilled
Since my marriage to an old man was willed?
Leave me before my poor heart breaks further,
Or our love break out in greater fervor.”
As Aoibhinn ceased to speak he bent and kissed
Her waiting mouth and she did not resist.
Ayden did not go to his father’s home.
He begged King Niall to not let him roam.
The king was very glad for him to stay
And together they talked the night and day.
But in the early morning or late night
Aoibhinn and Ayden gave in to delight.
They laughed and they loved in their secret place
And held each other in lovers’ embrace.
Plans to run ‘way together they contrived.
Then the day came when King Remy arrived.
Sick in her heart, Aoibhinn was presented.
With her face King Remy was contented.
A feast was held in the couple’s honor.
Aoibhinn’s servant sought in vain to calm her.
Feigning illness Aoibhinn left the grand feast.
Ayden she sought so her tears were released.
Unknown to them Aoibhinn’s wicked servant
Unfortunately was that night observant.
She ran to the King carrying the tale,
But her hope for riches did not avail.
King Remy and King Niall called the guards.
They quickly raced across the castle yards.
They sprang upon the couple as they left.
Drawing his sword a soldier Ayden cleft.
The archers were called and began to shoot.
The swift arrows fair Aoibhinn did refute.
She put herself between Ayden and death.
Struck by the arrows she gave her last breath.
A great wailing cry rose into the air.
Ayden fell on his own sword in despair.
Silence fell over the congregation.
Unbelief quelled any demonstration.
War broke out when Ayden’s uncle found out.
He quickly put Remy’s army to rout.
Remy was executed on the field
In payment for their lives his own did yield.
Aoibhinn’s father grieved and he died in a year.
Two young loves had cost everyone so dear.
For many long years the kingdom suffered.
It mourned and never fully recovered.
This is the tale of Aoibhinn and Ayden.
A tragic love between prince and maiden.
A truer love had never been given,
But the lives it touched were ever riven.
They buried them on the hill in the sun.
There they could see where the river had fun.
There flowers of blue, red, and yellow grew
And were sought by butterflies as they flew.
The birds still sing in the meadowlands there
And sing of a love so pure and so rare.
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