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Overthrow by diseases, and old age,
Destruction of the soul through deception.
A noble salvation win come
From the King who has created us,
A white law will come over seas;
Besides being God, He will be man.
This shape, he on whom thou lookest
Will come to thy parts;
’Tis mine to journey to her house,
To the woman in Moylinny.,
For it is Manannan son of Lir,
From the chariot in the shape of a man;
Of his progeny will be a very short while
A fair man in a body of white clay.
Manannan the descendent of Lir will be
A vigorous bed-fellow to Caintigern:
He shall be called to his son in the beautiful world,
Fiachna will acknowledge him as his son.
He will delight the company of every fairy-mound,
He will be the darling of every goodly land,
He will make known secrete-a course of wisdom—
In the world, without being feared.
He will be in the shape of every beast,
Both on the azure sea and on land,
He will be a dragon before hosts at the onset,
He will be a wolf in every great forest.
He will be a stag with horns of silver
In the land where chariots are driven,
He will be a speckled salmon in a full pool,
He will be a seal, he win be a fair-white swan.
He will be throughout long ages
A hundred years in fair kingship,
He will cut down battalion,—a lasting grave—
He will redden fields, a wheel around the track.
It will be about kings with a champion
That he will be known as a valiant hero,
Into the strongholds of a land on a height
I shall send an appointed end from Islay.
High shall I place him with princes,
He will be overcome by a son of error;
Manannan the son of Lir
Will be his father, his tutor.
He will be—his time will be short—
Fifty years in this world:
A dragon-stone from the sea will kill him
In the fight at Senlabor.
He will ask a drink from Loch Lo,
While he looks at the stream of blood;
The white host will take him under a wheel of clouds
To the gathering where them is no sorrow.
Steadily then let Bran row,
Not far to the Land of Women,
Emne with many hues of hospitality
Thou wilt reach before the setting of the sun.
Thereupon Bran went from Manannan mac Lir. And he saw an
island. He rowed round about it, and a large host was gaping and
laughing. They were all looking at Bran and his people, but would
not stay to converse with them. They continued to give forth gusts of
laughter at them. Bran sent one of his people on the island. He
ranged himself with the others, and was gaping at them like the
other men of the island. Bran kept rowing round about the island.
Whenever his man came past Bran, his comrades would address
him. But he would not converse with them, but would mostly look
at them and gape at them. The name of this island is the Island of
Joy. Thereupon they left him there.
It was not long thereafter when they reached the Land of Women.
They saw the leader of the women at the port. Said the chief of the
women: “Come hither on land, 0 Bran son of Febal! Welcome is thy
coming!” Bran did not venture to go on Shore. The woman threw a
ball of thread to Bran straight over his face. Bran put his hand on
the ball, which adhered to his palm. The thread of the ball was in the
woman’s hand, and she pulled the coracle towards the port. There-
upon they went into a large house, in which was a bed for every
couple, even thrice nine beds. The food that was put on every dish
vanished not from them. It seemed a year to them that they were
there—it chanced to be many years. No savor was wanting to them.
Home-sickness seized each one of them, even Nechtan son of
Collbran. Bran’s kindred kept praying him that he should go to Erin
with them. The woman said to them their going would make them
rue.
However, they went, and the woman said that none of them should
touch the land, and that they should visit and take with them the
man whom they had left in the Island of Joy.
Then they went until they arrived at a gathering at Srub Brain on
the coast of Erin. The men asked of them who it was came over the
Erin. Said Bran: “I am Bran the son of Febal.” One of the men said:
“We do not know such a one, though the ‘Voyage of Bran’ is in our
ancient stories.”
One of Bran’s men sprang from them out of the coracle. As soon
as he touched the earth of Ireland, forthwith he was a heap of ashes,
as though he had been in the earth for many hundred years. ’Twas
then that Bran sang this quatrain:
For Collbran’s son great was the folly
To lift his hand at age,
Without any one casting a wave of pure water
Over Nechtan, Collbran’s son.
Thereupon, to the people of the gathering Bran told all his wan-
derings from the beginning until that time. And he wrote these qua-
trains in ogam, and then bade them farewell. And from that hour
his wanderings are not known.
256
Talk to yourself rather than to bad companions.
If you want to be with the company you’ll call it good company
Don’t keep company with your betters. You won’t like them and
they won’t like you.
There’s no war as bitter as a war between friends.
The best way to make friends is to meet often. The best way to keep
them is to meet seldom.
Choose your friend amang the wise, and your wife amang the virtu-
ous.
Friendship multiplies our joys, and divides our grief.
Hearts may agree, though heads differ.
Contentment
Enough is as good as plenty.
Be happy with what you have and you’ll have plenty to be happy
about.
The far hills may be greener, but the hill you climb on the way to
work is less steep.
The slow horse reaches the mill.
Night never yet failed to fall.
If you rush the cook the spuds will be hard.
The apple won’t fall till it is ripe.
A pund o’ care winna pay an ounce o’ debt.
Death
Death looks the old in the face and lurks behind the youths.
Dead men tell not tales, but there’s many a thing learned in a wake
house.
There are more lies told in a wake-room than in a court-room.
Death is deaf, and will hear nae denial.
Education and Experience
A knowledgeable man frowns more often than a simpleton.
No use having the book without the learning.
You won’t learn to swim on the kitchen floor.
A wiseman doesn’t know his master’s mistakes.
Learning is a light burden.
Sense bought by experience is better than two senses learned by
book.
Don’t start to educate a nation’s children until its adults are learned.
A scholar’s ink lasts longer than a martyr’s blood.
The school house bell sounds bitter in youth and sweet in age.
An experienced rider doesn’t change his horse in midstream.
An old broom knows the dirty corners best.
The wearer knows best where the boot pinches.
An old dog sleeps near the fire but he’ll not burn himself.
The lesson learned by a tragedy is a lesson never forgotten.
A family of Irish birth will argue and fight, but let a shout come from
without and see them all unite.
Fate
If you’re born to be hanged, you’ll never be drowned.
Wisdom of the Modern Gaels
The Gaelic peoples of Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of man have
always been known for their wits and wisdom, although not always [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]