 
Hail to the morning fair, that falls as a flame on the greensward; Hail, too, unto Him who bestows her, the morn ever fruitful in blessings. Robed in her pride she comes, the brilliant sun's little sister, Hail to thee, Dawn, thrice hail! that lightest my book of the hours. Thou searchest the secret dwelling, on clansman and kindred thou shinest; White-necked, beautiful, hail! who makest thine uprising golden! The chequered page of my booklet tells me my life was erring; Melcroin, 'tis thee whom I fear, 'tis from thee that shall come my undoing. Scallcrow, thou paltry fowl, sharp-beaked, grey-coated and cruel, Full well do I guess thy desire, no friendship hast thou unto Cellach. Wait but awhile, bird of death, and most surely my flesh will suffice thee. Fiercely the kite of Cluain Eo will take his part in the scramble, His talons filled with my flesh, flying off to his haunt in the yew-tree. Swift through the darkling woodland the foxes will scent out my slaughter, They on the confines trackless my flesh and my blood will devour. The mighty wolf from his lair 'neath the rath on the East of Drumm Dara, To the banquet of bones will betake him, prime chief of the curs he will boast him. Wednesday night past I saw visions, the wild dogs troubled my slumbers, Hither and thither they dragged me through russet ferns of the coppice. 'Twas in a dream I saw it; to the lonely green glen men bore me; Five men were we who went thither, I saw only four returning. They poured out the cup of old friendship, they quaffed to my luck and long living. Scant is thy tail, tiny wren; thy doleful pipe is prophetic; Perhaps it is thou art the traitor; thou, and not they, my destroyer. For why should Mac Deora deceive me? His father and mine were brothers; Oh! monstrous deed and unholy, that he should desire to harm me! Or why should Meldalua hurt me? my cousin, is he by his mother; Twin sisters his mother and mine, yet in truth it was he who betrayed me. What ill can I get from Melsenig? For a pure man's son I have held him; Melsenig, the son of Melibar, 'tis he who hath plotted my downfall. Melcroin, my playfellow Melcroin, the crime of thy act is yet deeper; For ten thousand ingots of gold would not Cellach have stooped to betray thee. For the guerdon of hell hast thou sold me, hast sold me, thy friend and thy brother! All precious things that I had, my treasures, my sleek-coated horses, Would I have given to Melcroin, to win him away from this treason! Yet in high heaven above me, the great Son of Mary is speaking; "Thou art forsaken on earth; but a welcome awaits thee in heaven." FOOTNOTES: |
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