 
Tempest on the great sea-borders, Hear my tale, ye viking sworders! Winter smites us, wild winds crying Set the salty billows flying, Wind and winter, fierce marauders. Lir's vast host of shouting water Comes against us, charged with slaughter, None can tell the dread and wonder Speaking in the ocean thunder And the tempest, thunder's daughter. With the wind of east at morning All the waves' wild hearts are yearning Westward over wastes of ocean, Till they stay their eager motion Where the setting sun is burning. All the press of dark waves crying, Southward surge and clamour, driven To the shining southern heaven, Wave to wave in song replying. When the western wind is blowing O'er the currents wildly flowing, Eastward sets its mighty longing And the waves go eastward thronging Far to find the sun-tree growing. When the southern wind comes raining Over shielded Saxons straining, Waves round Skiddy isle go pouring, On Caladnet's beaches roaring, In grey Shannon's mouth complaining. Full the sea and fierce the surges, Lovely are the ocean verges, On the showery waters whirling, Sandy winds are swiftly swirling, Rudders cleave the surf that urges. Hard round Eire's cliffs and nesses, Hard the strife, not soft the stresses, Like swan-feathers softly sifting, Snow o'er Milidh's folk is drifting, Manann's wife shakes angry tresses. Breaking waters surge and shiver, Wind and winter met together Trouble Alba with wild weather, Countless falls on Dremon quiver. Son of God, great Lord of wonder, Save me from the ravening thunder, By the feast before Thy dying, Save me from the tempest crying And from Hell, tempestuous under. Robin Flower. |
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