The Voyage of Bran, Son of Febal. Celts

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    And she took her branch with her. The branch sprang from Bran's hand into the hand of the woman, nor was there strength in Bran's hand to hold the branch.

    Then on the morrow Bran went upon the sea. The number of his men was three companies of nine. One of his foster-brothers and mates was set over each of the three companies of nine. When he had been at sea two days and two nights, he saw a man in a chariot coming towards him over the sea. That man also sang thirty other quatrains to him, and made himself known to him, and said that he was Manannan the son of Ler, and said that it was upon him to go to Ireland after long ages, and that a son would be bom to him, even Mongan son of Fiachna-that was the name which would be upon him.
    So he sang these thirty quatrains to him:

    'Bran deems it a marvellous beauty
    In his coracle across the clear sea:
    While to me in my chariot from afar
    It is a flowery plain on which he rides about.

    'What is a clear sea
    For the prowed skiff in which Bran is,
    That is a happy plain with profusion of flowers
    To me from the chariot of two wheels.

    'Bran sees
    The number of waves beating across the clear sea:
    I myself see in Mag Mon
    Red-headed flowers without fault.

    'Sea-horses glisten in summer
    As far as Bran has stretched his glance:
    Rivers pour forth a stream of honey
    In the land of Manannan son of Ler.

    'The sheen of the main, on which thou art,
    The white hue of the sea, on which thou rowest about,
    Yellow and azure are spread out,
    It is land, and is not rough.

    'Speckled salmon leap from the womb
    Of the white sea, on which thou lookest:
    They are calves, they are coloured lambs
    With friendliness, without mutual slaughter.

    'Though (but) one chariot-rider is seen
    In Mag Mell of many flowers,
    There are many steeds on its surface,
    Though them thou seest not.

    'The size of the plain, the number of the host,
    Colours glisten with pure glory,
    A fair stream of silver, cloths of gold,
    Afford a welcome with all abundance.

    'A beautiful game, most delightful,
    They play (sitting) at the luxurious wine,
    Men and gentle women under a bush,
    Without sin, without crime.

    'Along the top of a wood has swum
    Thy coracle across ridges,
    There is a wood of beautiful fruit
    Under the prow of thy little skiff.

    'A wood with blossom and fruit,
    On which is the vine's veritable fragrance,
    A wood without decay, without defect,
    On which are leaves of golden hue.

    'We are from the beginning of creation
    Without old age, without consummation of earth,
    Hence we expect not that there should be frailty,
    The sin has not come to us.

    'An evil day when the Serpent went
    To the father to his city!
    She has perverted the times in this world,
    So that there came decay which was not original.

    'By greed and lust he has slain us,
    Through which he has ruined his noble race:
    The withered body has gone to the fold of torment,
    And everlasting abode of torture.

    'It is a law of pride in this world
    To believe in the creatures, to forget God,
    Overthrow by diseases, and old age,
    Destruction of the soul through deception.

    'A noble salvation will 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 Line-mag.

    'For it is Moninnan, the son of Ler,
    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.

    'Monann, the descendant of Ler, 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-knoll,
    He will be the darling of every goodly land,
    He will make known secrets-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 of 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 will be a fair-white swan.

    'He will be throughout long ages
    An hundred years in fair kingship,
    He will cut down battalions,-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;
    Moninnan, the son of Ler,
    Will be his father, his tutor.

    'He will be-his time will be short-
    Fifty years in this world:
    A dragonstone from the sea will kill him
    In the fight at Senlabor.

    'He will ask a drink from Loch Ló,
    While he looks at the stream of blood,
    The white host will take him under a wheel of clouds
    To the gathering where there 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 him.





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