BLEAR with dew came the morrow And winds rustled aloud. Down by the rill where purled the flow The Washer1 washed the shrouds And Nemain2 sang of woe and sorrow.
"O black-feathered Morrigan"
[II: (O'er bleak winds of death)]
A raven, Morrigan yclept, loomed awaiting burial. On wings o'er rueful winds, she stalked along.
A storm-blast of blazonry chased the sands And left the drift seen afar. A breeze brought the scattered grains, That flung 'gainst the dewy scars.
Her frenzied squawks exhorted the ravage And the hewing of sheen blades. And blood suffused the barren earth, 'Pon which the crimson dawn glowered.
A Crimson Dawn Awakened!
[III: (Hoarse cries and clanging steel)]
The brash and bray heartened the noble souls To defy the singeing fervour of battle. The carmine sky was brimming with sore shrieks, As they rose high above the flourish of brazen trumpets.
[IV: (The beacon glare)]
When, dark by smoke and red by fire, Aurora had won the day, The sun, in beacon glare, rose higher And sweltered drouthy fey.
[V: (The ascent of warlike fever)]
The fervour seared the sanguine plain And the sour scent of cold damp Did linger no more. Undaunted or felled, Shrieks resounded to where their lot was cast.
"O black-feathered Morrigan"
"Thrilled by rankling fury, as I hearkened direful voices, The red blaze of death aroused my vengeful moods."
"The glorious grandeur of battle, at this blood-tinged dawn, Made boil my ebon ichor, glinstering as steel whirled."
The carmine sky in ashen stains flecked Brimmed with husky moans. Thus the sabre-rattling swoll Into drear timbres of ire (The empty words sceptred).
[VI: (On the brink of ruin)]
"Wounds of savage thrusts Shifted me to the brink of ruin And the grave burden borne Struggled tho' I strained life."
[VII: (A draught of immortality)]
A raven, Morrigan yclept, loomed watching the battlefield. On wings o'er rueful winds, she stalked along.
"Thrilled by rankling fury, as I hearkened direful voices, The roan blaze of death aroused my vengeful moods."
"In awe of ancestral victories won I unsheathed and brandished my sword Once more. Dreadful countenances fell Until the baleful knell rang triste."
After the dismal rise of the sullen sun, Ravens reap the rich morning harvest, As the drenched earth is sated by thousands And splendid glory has been gained.
The ardent ashes that flare Smoulder with more afterglow Than a midsummer fever would leave And now the embers are fanned.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
