From the Gaelic.
OFORto hear the hunter’s treadWith his spear and his dogs the hills among;In my aged cheek youth flushes redWhen the noise of the chase arises strong.
Awakes in my bones the marrow whene’erI 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 menFor the elk and the roe which bound and play.
I see the cave, which receiv’d our feetSo kindly oft from the gloom of night,Where the blazing tree with its genial heatWithin 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 space, 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 gleeOf 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 shell,And the shield my fathers in battle bore;Ye halls, where Oisin and Daoul[197]dwell,Unclose—for at eve I shall be no more.
Farewell, grey Albyn, much loved land,I ne’er shall see thy hills again;Upon those hills I oft would standAnd view the chase sweep o’er the plain.
’Twas pleasant from their tops, I ween,To see the stag that bounding ran;And all the rout of hunters keen,The sons of Usna in the van.
The chiefs of Albyn feasted high,Amidst them Usna’s children shone;And Nasa kissed in secrecyThe daughter fair of high Dundron.
To her a milk-white doe he sent,With little fawn that frisked and played,And once to visit her he went,As home from Inverness he strayed.
The news was scarcely brought to meWhen jealous rage inflamed my mind;I took my boat and rushed to sea,For death, for speedy death, inclined.
But swiftly swimming at my sternCame Ainlie bold and Ardan tall;Those faithful striplings made me turnAnd brought me back to Nasa’s hall.
Then thrice he swore upon his arms,His burnished arms, the foeman’s bane,That he would never wake alarmsIn this fond breast of mine again.
Dundron’s fair daughter also swore,And called to witness earth and sky,That since his love for her was o’erA maiden she would live and die.
Ah, did she know that slain in fight,He wets with gore the Irish hill,How great would be her moan this night,But greater far would mine be still.
From the Gaelic of MacIntyre.
Thewild wine of nature,Honey-like in its taste,The genial, fair, thin elementFiltering through the sands,Which is sweeter than cinnamon,And is well-known to us hunters.O, that eternal, healing draught,Which comes from under the earth,Which contains abundance of goodAnd costs no money!
PRINTED BY JARROLD AND SONS, LTD.,NORWICH, ENGLAND
[17]“The Visions of the Sleeping Bard:” Being Ellis Wynne’s “Gweledigaethau y Bardd Cwsg,” Translated by Robert Gwyneddon Davies. Carnarvon (Welsh Publishing Co., Ltd.), 1909.
[34]Emrys, King of Britain, lying sick at Canterbury, a Saxon of the name of Eppa disguised himself as a religious person, and pretending to be versed in medicine, obtained admission to the Monarch and administered to him a poisoned draught, of which he died.
[39]Glyndwr signifies watery valley.
[49a]Written in the fifth century.
[49b]The British, like many other nations, whose early history is involved in obscurity, claim a Trojan descent.
[54a]Awen, or poetic genius, which he is said to have imbibed in his childhood, whilst employed in watching the cauldron of the Sorceress Cridwen.
[54b]I was but a child, but am now Taliesin,—Taliesin signifies: brow of brightness.
[64]The harp.
[74]Ale.
[137]The “streams of generosity” were those of Dafydd ab Thomas Vychan. (See “Wild Wales,” chap. lxxxviii.)—Ed.
[167]“What ishiraeth? Hiraeth is longing, the mourning, consuming feeling which one experiences for the loss of a beloved object.”—G.B.
[187]The personage who figures in the splendid forgeries of MacPherson under the name of Fingal.
[191]The Gaelic word for nobleman.
[197]Ancient bards, to whose mansion, in the clouds, the speaker hopes that his spirit will be received.