Part 8 (1/2)

I would give my glorious kings.h.i.+p With the share of my father's heritage-- To the hour of my death I would forfeit it To be in thy company, my Marvan.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 14: Names of well-known plains.]

SONG OF THE SEA

A great tempest rages on the Plain of Ler, bold across its high borders Wind has arisen, fierce winter has slain us; it has come across the sea, It has pierced us like a spear.

When the wind sets from the east, the spirit of the wave is roused, It desires to rush past us westward to the land where sets the sun, To the wild and broad green sea.

When the wind sets from the north, it urges the dark fierce waves Towards the southern world, surging in strife against the wide sky, Listening to the witching song.

When the wind sets from the west across the salt sea of swift currents, It desires to go past us eastward towards the Sun-Tree, Into the broad long-distant sea.

When the wind sets from the south across the land of Saxons of mighty s.h.i.+elds, The wave strikes the Isle of Scit, it surges up to the summit of Caladnet, And pounds the grey-green mouth of the Shannon.

The ocean is in flood, the sea is full, delightful is the home of s.h.i.+ps, The wind whirls the sand around the estuary, Swiftly the rudder cleaves the broad sea.

With mighty force the wave has tumbled across each broad river-mouth, Wind has come, white winter has slain us, around Cantire, around the land of Alba, Slieve-Dremon pours forth a full stream.

Son of the G.o.d the Father, with mighty hosts, save me from the horror of fierce tempests!

Righteous Lord of the Feast, only save me from the horrid blast, From h.e.l.l with furious tempest!

SUMMER HAS COME

Summer has come, healthy and free, Whence the brown wood is aslope; The slender nimble deer leap, And the path of seals is smooth.

The cuckoo sings sweet music, Whence there is smooth restful sleep; Gentle birds leap upon the hill, And swift grey stags.

Heat has laid hold of the rest of the deer-- The lovely cry of curly packs!

The white extent of the strand smiles, There the swift sea is.

A sound of playful breezes in the tops Of a black oakwood is Drum Daill, The n.o.ble hornless herd runs, To whom Cuan-wood is a shelter.

Green bursts out on every herb, The top of the green oakwood is bushy, Summer has come, winter has gone, Twisted hollies wound the hound.

The blackbird sings a loud strain, To him the live wood is a heritage, The sad angry sea is fallen asleep, The speckled salmon leaps.

The sun smiles over every land,-- A parting for me from the brood of cares: Hounds bark, stags tryst, Ravens flourish, summer has come!

SONG OF SUMMER