In Nature poetry the Gaelic muse may vie with that of any other nation. Indeed, these poems occupy a unique position in the literature of the world. To seek out and watch and love Nature, in its tiniest phenomena as in its grandest, was given to no people so early and so fully as to the Celt. Many hundreds of Gaelic and Welsh poems testify to this fact.[2] It is a characteristic of these poems that in none of them do we get an elaborate or sustained description of any scene or scenery, but rather a succession of pictures and images which the poet, like an impressionist, calls up before us by light and skilful touches. Like the Japanese, the Celts were always quick to take an artistic hint; they avoid the obvious and the commonplace; the half-said thing to them is dearest.

Of ancient love-songs comparatively little has come down to us. What we have are mostly laments for departed lovers. He who would have further examples of Gaelic love-poetry must turn to modern collections, among which the Love-Songs of Connaught, collected and translated by Douglas Hyde, occupy the foremost place.

A word on the metrical system of Irish poetry may conclude this rapid sketch. The original type from which the great variety of Irish metres has sprung is the catalectic trochaic tetrameter of Latin poetry, as in the well-known popular song of Caesar's soldiers:--

'Caesar Gallias subegit, Nicomedes Caesarem, Ecce Caesar nunc triumphat qui subegit Gallias';

or in St. Hilary's Hymnus in laudem Christi, beginning:--

'Ymnum dicat turba fratrum, ymnum cantus personet, Christo regi concinentes laudem demus debitam.'

The commonest stanza is a quatrain consisting of four heptasyllabic lines with the rhyme at the end of the couplet. In my renderings I have made no attempt at either rhythm or rhyme; but I have printed the stanzas so as to show the structure of the poem. For merely practical reasons I have, in some cases, printed them in the form of couplets, in others in that of verse-lines.

I must not conclude without recording here also, as I have done elsewhere, my gratitude for the constant help and advice given to me in these translations by my old friend and colleague, Professor J.M. Mackay.

K.M.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The poems referred to have been preserved in Continental manuscripts.]

[Footnote 2: See the admirable paper by Professor Lewis Jones on 'The Celt and the Poetry of Nature,' in the Transactions of the Hon. Society of Cymmrodorion, Session 1892-93, p. 46 ff.]

CONTENTS

MYTH AND SAGA-- PAGE THE ISLES OF THE HAPPY 3

THE SEA-GOD'S ADDRESS TO BRAN 7

THE TRYST AFTER DEATH 9

DEIRDRE'S FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND 15

DEIRDRE'S LAMENT 17

THE HOSTS OF FAERY 19

FROM THE VISION OF MAC CONGLINNE 20

RELIGIOUS POETRY--

THE DEER'S CRY 25

AN EVEN-SONG 28

PATRICK'S BLESSING ON MUNSTER 29

THE HERMIT'S SONG 30

A PRAYER TO THE VIRGIN 32

EVE'S LAMENT 34

ON THE FLIGHTINESS OF THOUGHT 35

TO CRINOG 37

THE DEVIL'S TRIBUTE TO MOLING 39

MAELISU'S HYMN TO THE ARCHANGEL MICHAEL 41

THE MOTHERS' LAMENT AT THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS 42

SONGS OF NATURE--

KING AND HERMIT 47

SONG OF THE SEA 51

SUMMER HAS COME 53

SONG OF SUMMER 54

SUMMER IS GONE 56

A SONG OF WINTER 57

ARRAN 59

LOVE POETRY--

THE SONG OF CREDE, DAUGHTER OF GUARE 63

LIADIN AND CURITHIR 65

BARDIC POETRY--

A DIRGE FOR KING NIALL OF THE NINE HOSTAGES 69

THE SONG OF CARROLL'S SWORD 72

EOCHAID'S LAMENT 75

LAMENT ON KING MALACHY II. 77

MISCELLANEOUS--

THE MONK AND HIS PET CAT 81

COLUM CILLE'S GREETING TO IRELAND 83

ON ANGUS THE CULDEE 86

COLUM CILLE THE SCRIBE 87

THE LAMENT OF THE OLD WOMAN OF BEARE 88

THE DESERTED HOME 92

CORMAC MAC CULENNAIN SANG THIS 94

ALEXANDER THE GREAT 95

QUATRAINS--

THE SCRIBE 99

ON A DEAD SCHOLAR 99

THE CRUCIFIXION 99

THE PILGRIM AT ROME 100

HOSPITALITY 100

THE BLACKBIRD 100

MOLING SANG THIS 100

THE CHURCH BELL IN THE NIGHT 101

THE VIKING TERROR 101

FROM THE TRIADS OF IRELAND 102

FROM THE INSTRUCTIONS OF KING CORMAC 105

NOTES 111

MYTH AND SAGA

THE ISLES OF THE HAPPY

Once when Bran, son of Feval, was with his warriors in his royal fort, they suddenly saw a woman in strange raiment upon the floor of the house. No one knew whence she had come or how she had entered, for the ramparts were closed. Then she sang these quatrains to Bran while all the host were listening.

I bring a branch of Evin's[3] apple-tree, In shape alike to those you know: Twigs of white silver are upon it, Buds of crystal with blossoms.

There is a distant isle, Around which sea-horses glisten: A fair course against the white-swelling surge-- Four pedestals uphold it.

A delight of the eyes, a glorious range Is the plain on which the hosts hold games: Coracle contends against chariot In Silver-white Plain[3] to the south.

Pedestals of white bronze underneath Glittering through ages of beauty: Fairest land throughout the world, On which the many blossoms drop.

An ancient tree there is in bloom, On which birds call to the Hours: In harmony of song they all are wont To chant together every Hour.

Colours of every shade glisten Throughout the gentle-voiced plains: Joy is known, ranked around music, In Silver-cloud Plain[3] to the south.

Unknown is wailing or treachery In the homely cultivated land: There is nothing rough or harsh, But sweet music striking on the ear.

Without grief, without gloom, without death, Without any sickness or debility-- That is the sign of Evin: Uncommon is the like of such a marvel.

A beauty of a wondrous land, Whose aspects are lovely, Whose view is wondrous fair, Incomparable is its haze.[4]

Then if Silverland[5] is seen, On which dragon-stones and crystals drop-- The sea washes the wave against the land, A crystal spray drops from its mane.

Wealth, treasures of every hue Are in the Land of Peace[5]--a beauty of freshness: There is listening to sweet music, Drinking of the choicest wine.

Golden chariots on the plain of the sea Heaving with the tide to the sun: Chariots of silver on the Plain of Sports,[5] And of bronze that has no blemish.

Steeds of yellow gold are on the sward there, Other steeds with crimson colour, Others again with a coat upon their backs Of the hue of all-blue heaven.

At sunrise there comes A fair man illumining level lands: He rides upon the white sea-washed plain, He stirs the ocean till it is blood.

A host comes across the clear sea, They exhibit their rowing to the land: Then they row to the shining stone From which arises music a hundredfold.

It sings a strain unto the host Through ages long, it is never weary: Its music swells with choruses of hundreds-- They expect neither decay nor death.

Many-shaped Evna by the sea, Whether it be near, whether it be far-- In which are thousands of many-hued women, Which the clear sea encircles.

If one has heard the voice of the music, The chorus of little birds from the Land of Peace, A band of women comes from a height To the plain of sport in which he is.

There comes happiness with health To the land against which laughter peals: Into the Land of Peace at every season Comes everlasting joy.

Through the ever-fair weather Silver is showered on the lands, A pure-white cliff over the range of the sea Receives from the sun its heat.

There are thrice fifty distant isles In the ocean to the west of us: Larger than Erin twice Is each of them, or thrice.