205. Omen Of The Swans

CHUALA mi guth binn nan eala, Ann an dealachadh nan trath, Glugalaich air sgiathaibh siubhlach, Cur nan cura dhiubh gu h-ard.

Ghrad sheas mi, cha d' rinn mi gluasad, Suil dh'an tug mi bhuam co bha Deanamh iuil air an toiseach? Righinn an t-sonais an eala bhan.

Bha seo air feasgar Di-aona, Bha mo smaontan air Di-mart-- Chaill mi mo chuid 's mo dhaona Bliadhn o'n Aona sin gu brath.

Ma chi thu eala air Di-aona, Moch 's a mhaduinn fhaoilidh, agh, Bidh cinneas air do chuid 's do dhaona, Do bhuar cha chaochail a ghnath.

I HEARD the sweet voice of the swans, At the parting of night and day, Gurgling on the wings of travelling, Pouring forth their strength on high.

I quickly stood me, nor made I move, A look which I gave from me forth Who should be guiding in front? The queen of luck, the white swan.

This was on the evening of Friday, My thoughts were of the Tuesday-- I lost my means and my kinsfolk A year from that Friday for ever.

Shouldst thou see a swan on Friday, In the joyous morning dawn, There shall be increase on thy means and thy kin, Nor shall thy flocks be always dying.