Feach Air Muir Lionadhi ealach Buidhe Mar Or
Feach Air Muir Lionadhi ealach Buidhe Mar Or
Mananan Mac Lir
The son of the sea
Is sib unto me
At the break of the year.
In the white autumn tides
The ghost drums call
When the midnights fall,
And the ghost ship rides
Where the green waves crawl.
I break the loam
By a Kerry hill--
They beckon me still
Through the purple gloam;
Strange eyes in the foam.
The sea-wind chills
The crumbling stones,
And a ghost harp moans
In the shadowy hills.
But a white sail fills
And a sweep-head draons.
The great white oars
They gleam and bend
And the west wind roars
From the blue world's end;
They call me like a friend,
Forgotten shores.
Robert E. Howard
