The lowing of heifers in summer,
Brightest of seasons!
Not bitter, toilsome over the fertile plain,
Delightful, smooth!
The voice of the wind against the branchy wood
Upon the deep-blue sky:
Falls of the river, the note of the swan,
Delicious music!
The bravest band make cheer to me,
Who have not been hired:
In the eyes of Christ the ever-young I am no worse
off
Than thou art.
Though thou rejoicest in thy own pleasures,
Greater than any wealth;
I am grateful for what is given me
From my good Christ.
Without an hour of fighting, without the din of
strife
In my house,
Grateful to the Prince who giveth every good
To me in my shieling.
Guare
I would give my glorious kingship
With the share of my father's heritage—
To the hour of my death I would forfeit it
To be in thy company, my Marvan.
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