Читать книгу Lyra Celtica: An Anthology of Representative Celtic Poetry - Various - Страница 14
The Lament of Queen Maev.
ОглавлениеRaise the Cromlech high!
Mac Moghcorb is slain,
And other men’s renown
Has leave to live again.
Cold at last he lies
’Neath the burial stone.
All the blood he shed
Could not save his own.
Stately, strong he went,
Through his nobles all,
When we paced together
Up the banquet-hall.
Dazzling white as lime,
Was his body fair,
Cherry-red his cheeks,
Raven-black his hair.
Razor-sharp his spear,
And the shield he bore,
High as champion’s head—
His arm was like an oar.
Never aught but truth
Spake my noble king;
Valour all his trust
In all his warfaring.
As the forkèd pole
Holds the roof-tree’s weight,
So my hero’s arm
Held the battle straight.
Terror went before him,
Death behind his back,
Well the wolves of Erinn
Knew his chariot’s track.
Seven bloody battles
He broke upon his foes,
In each a hundred heroes
Fell beneath his blows.
Once he fought at Fossud,
Thrice at Ath-finn-fail.
’Twas my king that conquered
At bloody Ath-an-Scaìl.
At the Boundary Stream
Fought the Royal Hound,
And for Bernas battle
Stands his name renowned.
Here he fought with Leinster—
Last of all his frays—
On the Hill of Cucorb’s Fate
High his Cromlech raise.