Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry/The Isles of the Happy
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[1] 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[1] 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[1] 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.[2]
Then if Silverland[1] 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[1]—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,[1]
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.
A wonderful child will be born after ages,
Who will not be in lofty places,
The son of a woman whose mate is unknown,
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:
Earth and sea are His—
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 multitudes with pure water,
'Tis He that will heal your sicknesses.
Not to all of you is my speech,
Though its great marvel has been revealed:
Let Bran listen from the crowd of the world
To the wisdom told to him.
Do not sink upon a bed of sloth!
Let not intoxication overcome thee!
Begin a voyage across the clear sea,
If perchance thou mayst reach the Land of
Women.