 | From the Hills of Dream |  |
51
The Moon-Song of Cathal.
O yellow lamp of Ioua that is having a cold pale flame there,
Put thy honey-sheen upon me who am close-caverned with Death:
Sure it is little I see now who have seen too much and too little:
O moon, thy breast is softer and whiter than hers who burneth the day.
Put thy honey-sheen upon me who am close-caverned with Death:
Sure it is little I see now who have seen too much and too little:
O moon, thy breast is softer and whiter than hers who burneth the day.
Put thy white light on the grave where the dead man my father is,
And waken him, waken him, wake!
And put thy soft shining on the breast of the woman my mother,
So that she stir in her sleep and say to the viking beside her,
“Take up thy sword, and let it lap blood, for it thirsts with long thirst.”
And waken him, waken him, wake!
And put thy soft shining on the breast of the woman my mother,
So that she stir in her sleep and say to the viking beside her,
“Take up thy sword, and let it lap blood, for it thirsts with long thirst.”
And O Ioua, be as the sea-calm upon the hot heart of Ardanna, the girl:
Tell her that Cathal loves her, and that memory is sweeter than life.
I list her heart beating here in the dark and the silence,
And it is not lonely I am, because of that, and remembrance.
Tell her that Cathal loves her, and that memory is sweeter than life.
I list her heart beating here in the dark and the silence,
And it is not lonely I am, because of that, and remembrance.
O yellow flame of Ioua, be a spilling of blood out of the heart of Ecta,
So that he fall dead, inglorious, slain from within, as a greybeard;
And light a fire in the brain of Molios, so that he shall go moonstruck,
And men will jeer at him, and he will die at the last, idly laughing!
So that he fall dead, inglorious, slain from within, as a greybeard;
And light a fire in the brain of Molios, so that he shall go moonstruck,
And men will jeer at him, and he will die at the last, idly laughing!
52
For lo, I worship thee, Ioua; and if thou canst give my message to Neis,—
Neis the helot out of Iondu, that is in Iona, bondman to Colum,—
Tell him I hail thee as Bandia, as god-queen and mighty,
And that he had the wisdom and I was a fool with trickling ears of moss.
Neis the helot out of Iondu, that is in Iona, bondman to Colum,—
Tell him I hail thee as Bandia, as god-queen and mighty,
And that he had the wisdom and I was a fool with trickling ears of moss.
But grant me this, O goddess, a bitter moon-drinking for Colum!
May he have the moonsong in his brain, and in his heart the moonfire:
Flame take him to heart of flame, and may he wane as wax at the furnace,
And his soul drown in tears, and his body be a nothingness upon the sands!
May he have the moonsong in his brain, and in his heart the moonfire:
Flame take him to heart of flame, and may he wane as wax at the furnace,
And his soul drown in tears, and his body be a nothingness upon the sands!
| From the Hills of Dream | |