It sings a strain to all the host assembled; That strain untired has trembled through all time! It swells with such sweet choruses unnumbered, Decay and Death have slumbered since its chime.
Thus happiness with wealth is o'er us stealing, And laughter pealing forth from every hill. Yea! through the Land of Peace at every season Pure Joy and Reason are companions still.
Through all the lovely Isle's unchanging hours There showers and showers a stream of silver bright; A pure white cliff that from the breast of Evin Mounts up to Heaven thus assures her light.
Long ages hence a Wondrous Child and Holy, Yet in estate most lowly shall have birth; Seed of a Woman, yet whose Mate knows no man To rule the thousand thousands of the earth.
His sway is ceaseless; 'twas His love all-seeing That Earth's vast being wrought with perfect skill. All worlds are His; for all His kindness cares; But woe to all gainsayers of His Will.
The stainless heavens beneath His Hands unfolded, He moulded Man as free of mortal stain, And even now Earth's sin-struck sons and daughters His Living Waters can make whole again.
Not unto all of you is this my message Of marvellous presage at this hour revealed. Let Bran but listen from Earth's concourse crowded Unto the shrouded wisdom there concealed.
Upon a couch of languor lie not sunken, Beware lest drunkenness becloud thy speech! Put forth, O Bran, across the far, clear waters. And Evin's daughters haply thou may'st reach.
[Footnote A: Plain or tableland such as the Curragh of Kildare.]
"Cormac, Conn's grandson, and son of great Art Declare to me now from the depths of thy heart, With the wise and the foolish, With strangers and friends, The meek and the mulish, The old and the young, With good manners to make God amends-- How I must govern my tongue, And in all things comport myself purely, The good and the wicked among."
"The answer thereto is not difficult surely. Be not too wise nor too scatter-brained, Not too conceited nor too restrained, Be not too haughty nor yet too meek, Too tattle-tongued or too loth to speak, Neither too hard nor yet too weak. If too wise you appear, folk too much will claim of you, If too foolish, they still will be making fresh game of you, If too conceited, vexatious they'll dub you, If too unselfish, they only will snub you, If too much of a tattler, you ne'er will be heeded, If too silent, your company ne'er will be needed, If overhard, your pride will be broken asunder, If overweak, the folk will trample you under."