Classic Poem

“O ISIN , Oisin, too long is thy slumber.
Oisin, arise, and give ear to the chant:
Thy force hath forsook thee, thy battles are over,
And without us, old man, thou would'st perish of want.”

“My force hath forsook me, my battles are over;
Since alas the famed empire of Finn is no more,
And without you indeed 'tis for want I should perish,
But since Finn sweetest music is music no more.”

“Nay, silly old man, for all of thy vaunting,
Of the loud Dord-Finn chorus, the timpan and horn,
Thou hast never heard music like matin bells ringing,
Or solemn psalms sung in the still summer morn.”

“Though greatly thou praisest the chants of the clerics,
I had rather lie listening down in the dale
To the voice of the cuckoo of Letter Lee calling;
Or the very sweet thrushes of green Gleann-a-Sgail;

“Or the song of the blackbird of Derrycarn gushing
So full and so free in the woods of the West;
(Oh, Patrick, no hymn under heaven could approach it!
Ah, would that I only were under his nest!)

“And I'd far liefer hearken the eagle's fierce whistle,
From lone Glennamoo or the Ridge by the stream,
Or list the loud thunder of rushing Tra-Rury,
Or catch on rough Irrus the seagull's scream.

“And I'd bid long goodbye to the bells of the clerics,
Could I once again follow o'er mountain and moor
The tune of the twelve fleetest wolf hounds of Erin
Let loose with their faces away from the Suir.

“And Cnu, little Cnu of my bosom, where art thou?
O small fairy dwarf, to the Finians so dear,
Whose harp ever soothed all our sorrows to slumber,
Ah, Cnu, little Cnu, how I would you were here.

“Where is now your betrothed one, oh, Cnu, where is Blathnaid,
Who stood up in beauty to sing when you played;
For the mouth of no mortal such sweetness could utter,
As the soft, rosy mouth of that magical maid.”