The Islands of the Ever Living

(To Prince Bran in his own house the Queen of the Islands of the Ever Living came, bearing a blossoming branch, and she chanted this lay to him.)

Crystal and silver
The branch that to you I show:
'Tis from a wondrous isle —
Distant seas close it;
Glistening around it
The sea-horses hie them:
Emne of many shapes,
Of many shades, the island.
They who that island near
Mark a stone standing:
From it a music comes,
Unheard-of, enchanting.
They who that music hear
In clear tones answer —
Hosts sing in choruses
To its arising.
A folk that through ages along
Know no decaying,
No death nor sickness, nor
A voice raised in wailing.
Such games they play there —
Coracle on wave-ways
With chariot on land contends —
How swift the race is!
Only in Emne is
There such a marvel! —
Treason and wounding gone
And sorrow of parting!
Who to that island comes
And hears in the dawning
The birds, shall know all delight
All through the ages!
To him, down from a height,
Will come bright-clad women,
Laughing and full of mirth —
Lovely their coming!
Freshness of blossom fills
All the isle's mazes;
Crystals and dragon-stones
Are dropped in its ranges!
But all my song is not
For all who have heard me;
Only for one it is:
Bran, now bestir you!
Heeding the message brought,
In this, my word,
Seeing the branch I show,
Leave you a crowd!

(In her own house, the Queen of the Ever-living Islands chanted this lay to Bran.)

Age-old, and yet
It bears the white blossom,
This tree wherein
Birds' songs are loud.
Hear! with the hours
The birds change their singing —
But always 'tis gladness —
Welcome their strain!
Look where the yellow-maned
Horses are speeding!
Look where the chariots
Are turning and wheeling!
Silver the chariots
On the plains yonder;
On the plains nigh us
Chariots of bronze!
And from our grounds,
Cultivated, familiar,
No sound arises
But is tuned to our ear.
Splendour of color
Is where spread the hazes;
Drops hair of crystal
From the waves' manes!
And of the many-colored
Land, Ildatach,
We dream when slumber
Takes us away.
'Tis like the cloud
That glistens above us,
A crown of splendour
On beauty's brow!