Page:Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry - Meyer.djvu/30

 Though thou seest but one chariot-rider In the Pleasant Plain of many flowers, There are many steeds on its surface, Though them thou seest not.

Large is the plain, numerous is the host, Colours shine with pure glory, A white stream of silver, stairs of gold Afford a welcome with all abundance.

An enchanting game, most delicious, They play over the luscious wine, Men and gentle women under a bush, Without sin, without transgression.

Along the top of a wood Thy coracle has swum across ridges, There is a wood laden with beautiful fruit Under the prow of thy little skiff.

A wood with blossom and with fruit On which is the vine's veritable fragrance, A wood without decay, without defect, On which is a foliage of a golden hue.

We are from the beginning of creation Without old age, without consummation of clay, Hence we expect not there might be frailty— Transgression has not come to us.

Steadily then let Bran row! It is not far to the Land of Women: Evna with manifold bounteousness He will reach before the sun is set.