adapted from Buile Suibhne,
the Madness of King Sweeney after his Defeat
at the Battle of Moira (Mag Roth), 637 CE
As flax is scutched by women
so was my army beaten.
But, Christ!
the blackbird's song is sweeter
than harpists at a feast.
' ' ' ' '
No stately home could ever be
grander than my Oratory here
where moon and stars shine bright and clear
above the safety of my tree.
It was great God the Builder
of the Worlds who made
my bothy in this little glade
and thatched its leafy roof, my shelter,
my retreat where no rain comes:
refuge safe from spear and sword
my sylvan mansion - and, dear Lord!
no fear where no fence runs.
No comments:
Post a Comment