Targum Part 7

Hunter so free!

Sit on my shoulder and look to the sea; Spite of our looking and yearning, He's not returning.

When I'm at rest, And he comes safe, do thou mind my behest: O with best greetings receive him, Frithiof, who'll grieve him.

THE DELIGHTS OF FINN MAC COUL {65}

From the Ancient Irish.

Finn Mac Coul 'mongst his joys did number To hark to the boom of the dusky hills; By the wild cascade to be lull'd to slumber, Which Cuan Na Seilg with its roaring fills.

He lov'd the noise when storms were blowing, And billows with billows fought furiously, Of Magh Maom's kine the ceaseless lowing, And deep from the glen the calves' feeble cry; The noise of the chase from Slieve Crott pealing, The hum from the bushes Slieve Cua below, The voice of the gull o'er the breakers wheeling, The vulture's scream, over the sea flying slow; The mariners' song from the distant haven, The strain from the hill of the pack so free, From Cnuic Nan Gall the croak of the raven, The voice from Slieve Mis of the streamlets three; Young Oscar's voice, to the chase proceeding, The howl of the dogs, of the deer in quest; But to recline where the cattle were feeding That was the delight which pleas'd him best.

Delighted was Oscar, the generous-hearted, To listen when s.h.i.+elds rang under the blow: But nothing to him such delight imparted As fighting with heroes and laying them low.

CAROLAN'S LAMENT.

From the Irish.

The arts of Greece, Rome and of Eirin's fair earth, If at my sole command they this moment were all, I'd give, though I'm fully aware of their worth, Could they back from the dead my lost Mary recall.

I'm distrest every noon, now I sit down alone, And at morn, now with me she arises no more: With no woman alive after Thee would I wive, Could I flocks and herds gain and of gold a bright store.

Awhile in green Eirin so pleasant I dwelt, With her n.o.bles I drank to whom music was dear; Then left to myself, O how mournful I felt At the close of my life, with no partner to cheer.

My sole joy and my comfort wast thou 'neath the sun, Dark gloom, now I'm reft of thee, filleth my mind; I shall know no more happiness now thou art gone, O my Mary, of wit and of manners refin'd.

TO ICOLMCILL.

From the Gaelic of Mac-Intyre.

On Icolmcill may blessings pour!

It is the island blest of yore; Mull's sister-twin in the wild main, Owning the sway of high Mac-Lean; The sacred spot, whose fair renown To many a distant land has flown, And which receives in courteous way All, all who thither chance to stray.

There in the grave are many a King And duine-wa.s.sel {68} slumbering; And bodies, once of giant strength, Beneath the earth are stretch'd at length; It is the fate of mortals all To ashes fine and dust to fall; I've hope in Christ, for sins who died, He has their souls beatified.

Now full twelve hundred years, and more, On dusky wing have flitted o'er, Since that high morn when Columb grey Its wall's foundation-stone did lay; Images still therein remain And death-memorials carv'd with pain; Of good hewn stone from top to base, It shows to Time a dauntless face.

A man this day the pulpit fill'd, Whose sermon brain and bosom thrill'd, And all the listening crowd I heard Praising the mouth which it proferr'd: Since death has seiz'd on Columb Cill, And Mull may not possess him still, There's joy throughout its heathery lands, In Columb's place that Dougal stands.

THE DYING BARD.

From the Gaelic.

O for to hear the hunter's tread With his spear and his dogs the hills among; In my aged cheek youth flushes red When the noise of the chase arises strong.

Awakes in my bones the marrow whene'er I hark to the distant shout and bay; When peals in my ear; "We've kill'd the deer"-- To the hill-tops boundeth my soul away;

I see the slug-hound tall and gaunt, Which follow'd me, early and late, so true; The hills, which it was my delight to haunt, And the rocks, which rang to my loud halloo.

I see Scoir Eild by the side of the glen, Where the cuckoo calleth so blithe in May, And Gorval of pines, renown'd 'mongst men For the elk and the roe which bound and play.

I see the cave, which receiv'd our feet So kindly oft from the gloom of night, Where the blazing tree with its genial heat Within our bosoms awak'd delight.

On the flesh of the deer we fed our fill-- Our drink was the Treigh, our music its wave; Though the ghost shriek'd shrill, and bellow'd the hill, 'Twas pleasant, I trow, in that lonely cave.

I see Benn Ard of form so fair, Of a thousand hills the Monarch proud; On his side the wild deer make their lair, His head's the eternal couch of the cloud.

But vision of joy, and art thou flown?

Return for a moment's s.p.a.ce, I pray,-- Thou dost not hear--ohone, ohone-- Hills of my love, farewell for aye.

Farewell ye youths, so bold and free, And fare ye well, ye maids divine!

No more I can see ye--yours is the glee Of the summer, the gloom of the winter mine.

At noon-tide carry me into the sun, To the bank by the side of the wandering stream, To rest the shamrock and daisy upon, And then will return of my youth the dream.

Place ye by my side my harp and sh.e.l.l, And the s.h.i.+eld, my fathers in battle bore; Ye halls, where Oisin and Daoul {72} dwell, Unclose--for at eve I shall be no more.

PROPHECY {73a} OF TALIESIN.

From the Ancient British.

Within my mind I hold books confin'd, Of Europa's land all the mighty lore; O G.o.d of heaven high!

With how many a bitter sigh, I my prophecy upon Troy's line {73b} pour:

A serpent coiling, And with fury boiling, From Germany coming with arm'd wings spread, Shall Britain fair subdue From the Lochlin ocean blue, To where Severn rolls in her s.p.a.cious bed.

And British men Shall be captives then To strangers from Saxonia's strand; From G.o.d they shall not swerve, They their language shall preserve, But except wild Wales, they shall lose their land.