IMMRAM BRAIN MAIC FEBAIL

³A branch of the apple-tree from Emain
I bring, like those one knows;
Twigs of white silver are on it,
Crystal brows with blossoms.

⁴There is a distant isle,
Around which sea-horses glisten:
A fair course against the white-swelling surge, -
Four feet uphold it.

⁵A delight of the eyes, a glorious range,
Is the plain on which the hosts hold games:
Coracle contends against chariot
In southern Mag Findargat ("White-Silver Plain").

⁶Feet of white bronze under it
Glittering through beautiful ages.
Lovely land throughout the world's age,
On which the many blossoms drop.

⁷An ancient tree there is with blossoms,
On which birds call to the Hours.
'Tis in harmony it is their wont
To call together every Hour.

⁸Splendours of every colour glisten
Throughout the gentle-voiced plains.
Joy is known, ranked around music,
In southern Mag Argatnél ("Silver-Cloud Plain").

⁹Unknown is wailing or treachery
In the familiar cultivated land,
There is nothing rough or harsh,
But sweet music striking on the ear.

¹⁰Without grief, without sorrow, without death,
Without any sickness, without debility,
That is the sign of Emain -
Uncommon is an equal marvel.

¹¹A beauty of a wondrous land,
Whose aspects are lovely,
Whose view is a fair country,
Incomparable is its haze.

¹²Then if Aircthech ("Bountiful Land") is seen,
On which dragonstones and crystals drop
The sea washes the wave against the land,
Hair of crystal drops from its mane.

¹³Wealth, treasures of every hue,
Are in Ciuin ("Gentle Land"), a beauty of freshness,
Listening to sweet music,
Drinking the best of wine.

¹⁴Golden chariots in Mag Réin ("Plain of the Sea"),
Rising with the tide to the sun,

Chariots of silver in Mag Mon ("Plain of Sports"),
And of bronze without blemish.

¹⁵Yellow golden steeds are on the sward there,
Other steeds with crimson hue,
Others with wool upon their backs
Of the hue of heaven all-blue.

¹⁶At sunrise there will come
A fair man illumining level lands;
He rides upon the fair sea-washed plain,
He stirs the ocean till it is blood.

¹⁷A host will come across the clear sea,
To the land they show their rowing;
Then they row to the conspicuous stone,
From which arise a hundred strains.

¹⁸It sings a strain unto the host
Through long ages, it is not sad,
Its music swells with choruses of hundreds -
They look for neither decay nor death.

¹⁹Many-shaped Emne (i.e. Emain) by the sea,
Whether it be near, whether it be far,
In which are many thousands of motley women,
Which the clear sea encircles.

²⁰If he has heard the voice of the music,
The chorus of the little birds from Imchiuin ("Very Gentle Land"),
A small band of women will come from a height
To the plain of sport in which he is.

²¹There will come happiness with health
To the land against which laughter peals,
Into Imchiuin at every season
Will come everlasting joy.

²²It is a day of lasting weather
That showers silver on the lands,
A pure-white cliff on the range of the sea,
Which from the sun receives its heat.

²³The host race along Mag Mon,
A beautiful game, not feeble,
In the variegated land over a mass of beauty
They look for neither decay nor death.

²⁴Listening to music at night,
And going into Ildathach ("Many-coloured Land"),
A variegated land, splendour on a diadem of beauty,
Whence the white cloud glistens.

²⁵There are thrice fifty distant isles
In the ocean to the west of us;
Larger than Erin twice
Is each of them, or thrice.

²⁶A great birth will come after ages,
That will not be in a lofty place,
The son of a woman whose mate will not be known,
He will seize the rule of the many thousands.

²⁷A rule without beginning, without end,
He has created the world so that it is perfect,
Whose are earth and sea,
Woe to him that shall be under His unwill!

²⁸'Tis He that made the heavens,
Happy he that has a white heart,
He will purify hosts under pure water,
'Tis He that will heal your sicknesses.

²⁹Not to all of you is my speech,
Though its great marvel has been made known:
Let Bran hear from the crowd of the world
What of wisdom has been told to him.

³⁰Do not fall on a bed of sloth,
Let not thy intoxication overcome thee,
Begin a voyage across the clear sea,
If perchance thou mayst reach the land of women ("tir na m-ban").

³³Bran 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 ("mag scothach") on which he rides about.

³⁴What is a clear sea
For the prowed skiff in which Bran is,
That is a happy plain with profusion of flowers ("mag meld co n-immut scoth")
To me from the chariot of two wheels.

³⁵Bran sees
The number of waves beating across the clear sea:
I myself see in Mag Mon
Red-headed flowers without fault.

³⁶Sea-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 Lír.

³⁷The 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.

³⁸Speckled 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.

³⁹Though (but) one chariot-rider is seen
In Mag Mell ("Pleasant" or "Happy Plain") of many flowers,
There are many steeds on its surface,
Though them thou seest not.

⁴⁰The 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.

⁴¹A beautiful game, most delightful,
They play (sitting) at the luxurious wine,
Men and gentle women under a bush,
Without sin, without crime.

⁴²Along 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.

⁴³A 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.

⁴⁴We 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.

⁴⁵An 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.

⁴⁶By 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.

⁴⁷It 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.

⁴⁸A 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.

⁴⁹This shape, he on whom thou lookest,
Will come to thy parts;
'Tis mine to journey to her house,
To the woman in Line-Mag ("the Conception of Mongan").

⁵⁰For it is Manannan, the son of Lír,
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.

⁵¹Manannan, the descendant of Lír, 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.

⁵²He 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.

⁵³He 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.

⁵⁴He 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.

⁵⁵He 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.

⁵⁶It 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.

⁵⁷High shall I place him with princes,
He will be overcome by a son of error;
Manannan, the son of Lír,
Will be his father, his tutor.

⁵⁸He 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.

⁵⁹He 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.

⁶⁰Steadily then let Bran row,
Not far to the Land of Women,
Emain with many hues of hospitality
Thou wilt reach before the setting of the sun.

For Collbran's son, great was the folly
To lift his hand against age,
Without any one casting a wave of pure water
Over Nechtan, Collbran's son.