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[ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ] Which the clear Sea encircles. If he has heard the voice of the music, The chorus of the little birds from Imchiunn, A small band of women will come from a height To the plain of sport in which he is. Spirit I am the Wind that blows over the sea, I am the Wave of the Ocean; I am the Murmur of the billows; I am the Ox of the Seven Combats; I am the vulture upon the rock; I am a Ray of the Sun; I am the fairest of Plants; I am a Wild Boar in valour; I am a Salmon in the Water; I am a Lake in the plain; I am the Craft of the artificer; I am a Word of Science; I am the Spear-point that gives battle;’ I am the god that creates in the head of man the fire of thought. The Voyage of Bran, Son of Febal (pg. 589 of Taliesin by Edward Williams, 1848) Editor’s Note: The following extensive poem from the Irish(?) is about a young prince who journeys by boat into the land of faeries. Islands were considered somewhat magical by the Celtic peoples. References to the af- terlife can be found in the descriptions of what faeries do to pass the time. It’s really long, but good. ’Twas fifty quatrains that the woman from unknown lands sang on the floor of the house to Bran son of Febal, when the royal house was full of kings, who knew not whence the woman had come, since the ramparts were closed. This is the beginning of the story. One day, in the neighborhood, of his stronghold, Bran went about alone, when he heard music behind him. As often as he looked back, ’twas still behind him the music was. At last he fell asleep at the music, such was its sweetness— When he awoke from his asleep, he saw close by him a branch of silver with white blossoms, nor was it easy to distinguish its bloom from the branch. Then Bran took the branch in his hand to his royal house. When the hosts were in the royal house, they saw a woman in strange raiment therein. ’Twas then she sang the fifty quatrains to Bran, while the host heard her, and all beheld the woman. And she said: A branch of the apple-tree from Emne I bring, like those one knows; Twigs of white silver are on it, Crystal brows with blossoms. There is a distant isle, Around which sea-horses glisten: A fair course against the white-swelling surge,— Four pillars uphold it. A delight of the eyes, a glorious range, Is the plain on which the hosts hold games: Coracle contends against chariot In the southern Plain of White Silver. Pillars of white bronze under it Glittering through beautiful ages. Lovely land throughout the world’s age, On which the many blossoms drop. An ancient tree there is with blossoms, On which birds call the canonical Hours. ’Tis in harmony it is their wont To call together every Hour. 254 While to me in my chariot from afar It is a flowery plain on which he rows about. That which is a clear sea For the prowed skiff in which Bran is, That is a happy plain with profusion of flowers To me from the chariot of two wheels. Bran sees The number of waves beating across the clear sea: I myself see in Mag Mon Rosy-colored flowers without fault. Sea-horses glisten in summer As far as Bran has stretched his glance: Rivers pour forth a stream of honey In the land of Manannan son of Lir. The sheen of the main, on which thou art, The white hue of the sea, on which thou rowest, Yellow and azure are spread out, It is land, and is not rough. Speckled salmon leap from the womb Of the white sea, on which thou lookest: They are calves, they are colored lambs With friendliness, without mutual slaughter. Though but one chariot-rider is seen In Mag Mell of many flowers, There are many steeds on its surface, Though them thou seest not. The size of the plain, the number of the host, Colors glisten with pure glory, A fair stream of silver, cloths of gold, Afford a welcome with all abundance. A beautiful game, most delightful, They play sitting at the luxurious wine, Men and gentle women under a bush, Without sin, without crime. Along the top of a wood has swum Thy coracle across ridges, There is a wood of beautiful fruit Under the prow of thy little boat. A wood with blossom and fruit, On which is the vine’s veritable fragrance, A wood without decay, without defect, On which are leaves of golden hue. We are from the beginning of creation Without old age, without consummation of earth, Hence we expect not that there should be frailty; Sin has not come to us. An evil day when the Serpent went To the father to his city! She has perverted the times in this world, So that there came decay which was not original By greed and lust he has slain us, Through which he has ruined his noble race: The withered body has gone to the fold of torment, And everlasting abode of torture. There will come happiness with health To the land against which laughter peals, Into Imchiuin at every season Will come everlasting joy. It is a day of lasting weather That showers silver on the lands, A pure-white cliff on the range of the sea, Which from the sun receives its heat. The host race along Mag Mon, A beautiful game, not feeble, In the variegated land over a mass of beauty. They look for neither decay nor death. Listening to music at night, And going into Ildathach, A variegated land, splendor on a diadem of beauty, Whence the white cloud glistens. There are thrice fifty distant isles In the ocean to the west of us; Larger than Erin twice Is each of them, or thrice. A great birth will come after ages, That will not be in a lofty place, The son of a woman whose mate will not be known, He will seize the rule of the many thousands. A rule without beginning, without end, He has created the world so that it is perfect, Whose are earth and sea, Woe to him that shall be under His unwill ’Tis He that made the heavens, Happy he that has a white heart, He will purify hosts under pure water, ’Tis He that will heal your sickness. Not to all of you is my speech given, Though its great marvel has been heard: Let you, Bran, only hear from among this crowd What of wisdom has been told to him. Do not fall on a bed of sloth, Let not thy intoxication overcome thee; Begin a voyage across the clear sea, If perchance thou mayst reach the land of women. Thereupon the woman went from them, while they knew not whither she went. And she took her branch with her. The branch sprang from Bran’s hand into the hand of the woman, nor was there strength in Bran’s hand to hold the branch. Then on the morrow Bran went upon the sea. The number of his men was three companies of nine. One of his foster-brothers and shield mates was set over each of the three companies of nine. When he had been at sea two days and two nights, he saw a man in a chariot coming towards him over the sea. That man also sang thirty other quatrains to him, and made himself known to him, and said that he was; Manannan son of Lir, and said that it was upon him to go to Ireland after long ages, and that a son would be born to him, Mongan son of Fiachna—that was the name which would be upon him. So Manannan sang these thirty quatrains to Bran: Bran deems it a marvelous beauty In his coracle across the clear sea: 255 It is a law of pride in this world [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ] |