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James Clarence Mangan (Джеймс Кларенс Манган) A Vision of Connaught in the Thirteenth Century I WALKED entranced Through a land of morn; The sun, with wondrous excess of light, Shone down and glanced Over seas of corn And lustrous gardens aleft and right. Even in the clime Of resplendent Spain Beams no such sun upon such a land; But it was the time, ’T was in the reign, Of Cáhal Mór of the Wine-red Hand. Anon stood nigh By my side a man Of princely aspect and port sublime. Him queried I, “O my Lord and Khan, What clime is this, and what golden time?” When he,—“The clime Is a clime to praise, The clime is Erin’s, the green and bland; And it is the time, These be the days, Of Cáhal Mór of the Wine-red Hand!” Then saw I thrones And circling fires, And a dome rose near me, as by a spell, Whence flowed the tones Of silver lyres, And many voices in wreathéd swell; And their thrilling chime Fell on mine ears As the heavenly hymn of an angel-band,— “It is now the time, These be the years, Of Cáhal Mór of the Wine-red Hand!” I sought the hall, And, behold! a change From light to darkness, from joy to woe! King, nobles, all, Looked aghast and strange; The minstrel-group sate in dumbest show! Had some great crime Wrought this dread amaze, This terror? None seemed to understand! ’T was then the time, We were in the days, Of Cáhal Mór of the Wine-red Hand. I again walked forth; But lo! the sky Showed fleckt with blood, and an alien sun Glared from the north, And there stood on high, Amid his shorn beams, a skeleton! It was by the stream Of the castled Main, One autumn eve, in the Teuton’s land, That I dreamed this dream Of the time and reign Of Cáhal Mór of the Wine-red Hand! James Clarence Mangan's other poems:
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