 | Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) |  |
131
THE LAMENTATION OF BALVA THE MONK
Balva the old monk I am called: when I was young, Balva Honeymouth.
That was before Colum the White came to Iona in the West.
She whom I loved was a woman whom I won out of the South,
And I had a good heaven with my lips on hers and with breast to breast.
That was before Colum the White came to Iona in the West.
She whom I loved was a woman whom I won out of the South,
And I had a good heaven with my lips on hers and with breast to breast.
Balva the old monk I am called: were it not for the fear
That the soul of Colum the White would meet my soul in the Narrows
That sever the living and dead, I would rise up from here
And go back to where men pray with spears and arrows.
That the soul of Colum the White would meet my soul in the Narrows
That sever the living and dead, I would rise up from here
And go back to where men pray with spears and arrows.
Balva the old monk I am called: ugh! ugh! the cold bell of the matins—'tis dawn!
Sure it's a dream I have had that I was in a warm wood with the sun ashine,
And that against me in the pleasant greenness was a soft fawn,
And a voice that whispered “Balva Honeymouth, drink, I am thy wine!”
Sure it's a dream I have had that I was in a warm wood with the sun ashine,
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And a voice that whispered “Balva Honeymouth, drink, I am thy wine!”
| Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) | |