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

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By the stream of the level plain,

And the little kids, weary of their strife,

Shall sleep beneath my arm.

Far in the gentle breeze

The stag cries on the field;

The herds answer on the hill,

And descend to meet the sound.

I hear the steps of the hunter!

His whistling darts—his dog upon the hill.

The joy of youth returns to my cheek

At the sound of the coming chase!

My strength returns at the sounds of the wood;

The cry of hounds—the thrill of strings.

Hark! the death-shout—“The deer has fallen!”

I spring to life on the hill!

I see the bounding dog,

My companion on the heath;

The beloved hill of our chase,

The echoing craig of woods.

I see the sheltering cave

Which often received us from the night,

When the glowing tree and the joyful cup

Revived us with their cheer.

Glad was the smoking feast of deer,

Our drink was from Loch Treig, our music its hum of waves;

Though ghosts shrieked on the echoing hills,

Sweet was our rest in the cave.

I see the mighty mountain,

Chief of a thousand hills;