Кельтские сумерки - страница 5

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[54]. I talked to him about a poem in Irish that Raftery[55], a famous poet, wrote about her.

I first heard about the poem from an old woman who lives about two miles up the river. She remembers Raftery and Mary Hynes. She said, “I have never seen anyone as beautiful as she was, and I never will until I die.” She told me that Raftery was nearly blind and had no other way of making a living than going around and reciting poems.

She sang the poem to me and a friend in Irish, and every word was clear and expressive. My friend and I have translated parts of it, but some of it was translated by the local people.

Going to Mass by the will of God,
The day came wet and the wind rose;
I met Mary Hynes at the cross of Kiltartan,
And I fell in love with her then and there.
I spoke to her kind and mannerly,
As by report was her own way;
And she said, “Raftery, my mind is easy,
You may come today to Ballylee.”
When I heard her offer I did not linger,
When her talk went to my heart my heart rose.
We had only to go across the three fields,
We had daylight with us to Ballylee.
The table was laid with glasses and a quart measure,
She had fair hair, and she sitting beside me;
And she said, “Drink, Raftery, and a hundred welcomes,
There is a strong cellar in Ballylee.”
Oh star of light and Oh sun in harvest,
Oh amber[56] hair, Oh my share of the world,
Will you come with me on Sunday
Till we agree together before all the people?
I would not grudge[57] you a song every Sunday evening,
Punch on the table, or wine if you would drink it,
But, Oh King of Glory, dry the roads before me,
Till I find the way to Ballylee.
There is sweet air on the side of the hill
When you are looking down upon Ballylee;
When you are walking in the valley picking nuts
and blackberries,
There is music of the birds in it and music of the Sidhe.
What is the worth of greatness till you have the light
Of the flower of the branch that is by your side?
There is no god to deny it or to try and hide it,
She is the sun in the heavens who wounded my heart.
There was no part of Ireland I did not travel,
From the rivers to the tops of the mountains,
To the edge of Lough Greine[58] whose mouth is hidden,
And I saw no beauty but was behind hers.
Her hair was shining, and her brows were shining too;
Her face was like herself, her mouth pleasant and sweet.
She is the pride, and I give her the branch,
She is the shining flower of Ballylee.
It is Mary Hynes, this calm and easy woman,
Has beauty in her mind and in her face.
If a hundred clerks were gathered together,
They could not write down a half of her ways.

An old weaver[59] says, “Mary Hynes was the most beautiful person ever. My mother used to tell me about her. She was always dressed in white and visited every hurling match. Eleven men asked her to be their wife in one day, but she said “no” to all of them. One night, some men were sitting together, drinking and talking about her. One of them decided to go to Ballylee and see her. However, he fell into Cloon Bog and was found dead the next morning. Mary died of fever before the famine.” An old woman from Derrybrien[60] recalls Mary. She says, “No one has ever been as beautiful as Mary. Her skin was so white that it looked blue, and she had two little blushes on her cheeks.” Another wrinkled woman living near Ballylee says, “I often saw Mary Hynes, and she was really beautiful. She had two curls on each cheek that were silver-colored. I also saw Mary Molloy, who drowned in the river, and Mary Guthrie from Ardrahan[61], but Mary Hynes was the most beautiful of them. She had seen too much of the world. She was a kind person. One day, I was walking through a field, feeling tired, and the Poisin Glegeal (the shining flower) appeared and gave me a glass of fresh milk.” A man by the shore in Kinvara[62], who is too young to remember Mary Hynes, says, “Everyone says there is no one as beautiful as her now. They say her hair was the color of gold. She was poor, but she always dressed nicely. If she attended any gathering, everyone would fight to catch a glimpse of her. Many people were in love with her, but she died young. It is said that anyone who has a song written about them won’t live long.”