Читать книгу A Book of Irish Verse - Various - Страница 16

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From the Irish

The sun on Ivera

No longer shines brightly,

The voice of her music

No longer is sprightly;

No more to her maidens

The light dance is dear,

Since the death of our darling

O'Sullivan Bear.

Scully! thou false one,

You basely betrayed him,

In his strong hour of need,

When thy right hand should aid him;

He fed thee—he clad thee—

You had all could delight thee:

You left him—you sold him—

May Heaven requite thee!

Scully! may all kinds

Of evil attend thee!

On thy dark road of life

May no kind one befriend thee!

May fevers long burn thee,

And agues long freeze thee!

May the strong hand of God

In His red anger seize thee!

Had he died calmly,

I would not deplore him;

Or if the wild strife

Of the sea-war closed o'er him:

But with ropes round his white limbs

Through ocean to trail him,

Like a fish after slaughter—

'Tis therefore I wail him.

Long may the curse

Of his people pursue them;

Scully, that sold him,

And soldier that slew him!

One glimpse of heaven's light

May they see never!

May the hearthstone of hell

Be their best bed for ever!

In the hole which the vile hands

Of soldiers had made thee,

Unhonour'd, unshrouded,

And headless they laid thee;

No sigh to regret thee,

No eye to rain o'er thee,

No dirge to lament thee,

No friend to deplore thee!

Dear head of my darling,

How gory and pale,

These aged eyes see thee,

High spiked on their gaol!

That cheek in the summer sun

Ne'er shall grow warm;

Nor that eye e'er catch light,

But the flash of the storm.

A curse, blessed ocean,

Is on thy green water,

From the haven of Cork

To Ivera of slaughter:

Since thy billows were dyed

With the red wounds of fear

Of Muiertach Oge,

Our O'Sullivan Bear!

Jeremiah Joseph Callanan