Читать книгу Lyra Celtica: An Anthology of Representative Celtic Poetry онлайн

49 страница из 65

Lark alone enchant the heaven!

Ardan’s lips are scant of breath,

Neesa’s tongue is cold in death.

Stag, exult on glen and mountain—

Salmon, leap from loch to fountain—

Heron, in the free air warm ye—

Usnach’s sons no more will harm ye!

Erin’s stay no more you are,

Rulers of the ridge of war;

Never more ’twill be your fate

To keep the beam of battle straight!

Woe is me! by fraud and wrong,

Traitors false and tyrants strong,

Fell Clan Usnach, bought and sold,

For Barach’s feast and Conor’s gold!

Woe to Eman, roof and wall!

Woe to Red Branch, hearth and hall!—

Tenfold woe and black dishonour

To the foul and false Clan Conor!

Dig the grave both wide and deep,

Sick I am, and fain would sleep!

Dig the grave and make it ready,

Lay me on my true-love’s body.

ssss1

Raise the Cromlech high!

Mac Moghcorb is slain,

And other men’s renown

Has leave to live again.

Cold at last he lies

’Neath the burial stone.

All the blood he shed

Could not save his own.