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

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And the sea with its deepness,

And the rocks with their steepness,

And the earth with its starkness:

All these I place,

By God’s almighty help and grace,

Between myself and the powers of darkness.

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O, Son of my God, what a pride, what a pleasure

To plough the blue sea!

The waves of the fountain of deluge to measure

Dear Eiré to thee.

We are rounding Moy-n-Olurg, we sweep by its head, and

We plunge through Loch Foyle,

Whose swans could enchant with their music the dead, and

Make pleasure of toil.

The host of the gulls come with joyous commotion

And screaming and sport,

I welcome my own “Dewy-Red” from the ocean

Arriving in port.[7]

O Eiré, were wealth my desire, what a wealth were

To gain far from thee,

In the land of the stranger, but there even health were

A sickness to me!

Alas for the voyage O high King of Heaven

Enjoined upon me,

For that I on the red plain of bloody Cooldrevin

Was present to see.

How happy the son is of Dima; no sorrow