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

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For him is designed,

He is having, this hour, round his own hill in Durrow

The wish of his mind.

The sounds of the winds in the elms, like the strings of

A harp being played,

The note of the blackbird that claps with the wings of

Delight in the glade.

With him in Ros-Grencha the cattle are lowing

At earliest dawn,

On the brink of the summer the pigeons are cooing

And doves in the lawn.

Three things am I leaving behind me, the very

Most dear that I know,

Tir-Leedach I’m leaving, and Durrow and Derry,

Alas, I must go!

Yet my visit and feasting with Comgall have eased me

At Cainneach’s right hand,

And all but thy government, Eiré, has pleased me,

Thou waterfall land.

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Delightful would it be to me to be in Uchd Ailiun

On the pinnacle of a rock,

That I might often see

The face of the ocean;

That I might see its heaving waves

Over the wide ocean,

When they chant music to their Father

Upon the world’s course;

That I might see its level sparkling strand,