Speak to us, sir, said the children, of the Battle in the Valley of the Black Pig.

I will, said the poet, and that gladly. For well you remember the words of the poet Yeats, when he said:

A time will come for these people also—he speaks here of the fisher-folk of Ireland—when they will sacrifice a mullet to Artemis, or some other fish to some new divinity, unless indeed their own divinities set up once more their temples of grey stone. Their reign has never ceased, but only waned in power a little, for the Sidhe still pass in every wind, and dance and play at hurley, but they cannot build their temples again till there have been martyrdoms and victories, and perhaps even that long-foretold battle in the Valley of the Black Pig.

We remember them well, they said, and for this reason we ask. Have you heard, then, of this long-foretold battle, and what can you tell us thereof?

I have, replied the poet, but is not its nature clear from the words of the poet? It is the dream of the great battle that shall open the way for the coming-again of the old ways, and the going-down of the new.

Is this then the battle that they call armageddon? they asked.

I do not know, he told them, but we, have we not already seen our armageddon? And lo, we have come through to its other side. Whereas their armageddon still awaits them; though surely, to judge from the times, its day cannot now be long delayed.

And who shall fight this battle? they asked. Will some new king or chieftain arise among us?

I cannot say, he told them; perhaps it is they who will fight themselves. Surely when the old ways called new destroy one another, the time of the new ways called old will follow soon thereafter.

And where may it be found, this Valley of the Black Pig? they asked. In Ireland?

There, and in your own hearts, said the poet.

William Butler Yeats, Rosa Alchemica (1897)

Beltany Stone Circle

Co. Donegal, Ireland

ca. 2700 bce