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

61 страница из 65

The dream of deer is in its locks,

Its head is the bed of clouds.

I see the ridge of hinds, the steep of the sloping glen,

The wood of cuckoos at its foot,

The blue height of a thousand pines,

Of wolves, and roes, and elks.

DOMHNULL MAC FHIONNLAIDH

Like the breeze on the lake of firs

The little ducks skim on the pool,

At its head is the strath of pines,

The red rowan bends on its bank.

There, on the gliding wave,

The fair swan spreads her wing,

The broad white wing which never fails

When she soars amidst the clouds.

Far wandering over ocean

She seeks the cold dwelling of seals,

Where no sail bends the mast,

Nor prow divides the wave.

Come to the woody hills

With the lament of thy love;

Return, O swan, from the isle of waves,

And sing from thy course on high.

Raise thy mournful song—

Pour the sad tale of thy grief;

The son of the rock shall hear the sound,

And repeat thy strain of woe.

Spread thy wing over ocean,

Mount up on the strength of the winds;

Pleasant to my ear is thy sound,