Page:Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry - Meyer.djvu/105

 COLUM CILLE'S GREETING TO IRELAND

Delightful to be on the Hill of Howth Before going over the white-haired sea: The dashing of the wave against its face, The bareness of its shores and of its border.

Delightful to be on the Hill of Howth After coming over the white-bosomed sea; To be rowing one's little coracle, Ochone! on the wild-waved shore.

Great is the speed of my coracle, And its stern turned upon Derry: Grievous is my errand over the main, Travelling to Alba of the beetling brows.

My foot in my tuneful coracle, My sad heart tearful: A man without guidance is weak, Blind are all the ignorant.

There is a grey eye That will look back upon Erin: It shall never see again The men of Erin nor her women.

I stretch my glance across the brine From the firm oaken planks: Many are the tears of my bright soft grey eye As I look back upon Erin.

My mind is upon Erin, Upon Loch Lene, upon Linny, Upon the land where Ulstermen are, Upon gentle Munster and upon Meath.