Page:Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry - Meyer.djvu/27

 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.