Harp of Cnoc I'Chosgair, you who bring sleep to eyes long sleepless; sweet subtle, plangent, glad, cooling grave. Excellent instrument with smooth gentle curve, trilling under red fingers, musician that has charmed us, red, lion-like of full melody. You who lure the bird from the flock, you who refresh the mind, brown spotted one of sweet words, ardent, wondrous, passionate. You who heal every wounded warrior, joy and allurement to women, familiar guide over the dark blue water, mystic sweet sounding music. You who silence every instrument of music, yourself a sweet plaintive instrument, dweller among the Race of Conn, instrument yellow-brown and firm. The one darling of sages, restless, smooth, sweet of tune, crimson star above the Fairy Hills, breast jewel of High Kings. Sweet tender flowers, brown harp of Diarmaid, shape not unloved by hosts, voice of cuckoos in May! I have not heard music ever such as your frame makes since the time of the Fairy People, fair brown many coloured bough, gentle, powerful, glorious. Sound of the calm wave on the beach, pure shadowing tree of pure music, carousals are drunk in your company, voice of the swan over shining streams. Cry of the Fairy Women from the Fairy Hill of Ler, no melody can match you, every house is sweet stringed through your guidance, you the pinnacle of harp music.
Harp of Cnoc I'Chosgair, you who bring sleep to eyes long sleepless; sweet subtle, plangent, glad, cooling grave. Excellent instrument with smooth gentle curve, trilling under red fingers, musician that has charmed us, red, lion-like of full melody. You who lure the bird from the flock, you who refresh the mind, brown spotted one of sweet words, ardent, wondrous, passionate. You who heal every wounded warrior, joy and allurement to women, familiar guide over the dark blue water, mystic sweet sounding music. You who silence every instrument of music, yourself a sweet plaintive instrument, dweller among the Race of Conn, instrument yellow-brown and firm. The one darling of sages, restless, smooth, sweet of tune, crimson star above the Fairy Hills, breast jewel of High Kings. Sweet tender flowers, brown harp of Diarmaid, shape not unloved by hosts, voice of cuckoos in May! I have not heard music ever such as your frame makes since the time of the Fairy People, fair brown many coloured bough, gentle, powerful, glorious. Sound of the calm wave on the beach, pure shadowing tree of pure music, carousals are drunk in your company, voice of the swan over shining streams. Cry of the Fairy Women from the Fairy Hill of Ler, no melody can match you, every house is sweet stringed through your guidance, you the pinnacle of harp music.
[Gofraidh Fion O Dalaigh. Irish Bard 1385]
Leelee, this is a beautiful and very well verse poem that you chose to share with us. One thing I would like is for someone to recite it to me with the soothing sound of the harp in the background while I'm falling into Morpheus's arms...
LOA
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"Few men are brave:many become so through training and discipline." Flavius Vegetius Renatus
"I think a hero is an ordinary individual who finds strenght to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles." Christopher Reeve
Leelee, this is a beautiful and very well verse poem that you chose to share with us. One thing I would like is for someone to recite it to me with the soothing sound of the harp in the background while I'm falling into Morpheus's arms...
LOA
Ye hit that one right on the heid, Lass Tae hear that recited etc.....sigh