Wednesday, 22 December 2010



My tears, oh Ryno, are for the killed one. my voice is for the inhabitants of the grave. Agile you move on the hill, among the children of the land. But you will fall like Morar and on your tomb will sit that whom cries for you. The mountains will forget you; your bow will be left in the room.
You were fast, oh Morar, like a deer on a hill, you were as terrible as the nocturn flames of the sky. Your frowning was like a tempest, your sword in was like a thunderbolt over the land. Your voice was like a river after the rain, like a thunder on the faraway lands. Many died because of you. THe flame of your anger killed them. But when you came back from war your forehead was so smooth! Your face was similar to the sun after the storm, similar to the moon in the silence of the night. calm was your chest like the sea when the wind ceases to blow.
Your house is now small! Dark your place. WIth three steps I can measure your tomb, you who used to be so big! Four stones are the only memory of you and a leafless tree, and some grass that murmurs in the wind. They point to the the eye of the hunter the grave of the powerful Morar. You don't have a mother crying for you, or a girl whose tears are full of love. Dead is she who gave birth to you: dead is the daughter of Morglan.
WHo is this who leans against the stick? WHo is this whose head is white from the years, whose eyes are red from the tears? It is your father, oh Morar! THe father of no other son but you. He heard about your fame in war. He heard of the enemies defeated by you. He heard of the glory of Morar! But nothing about his wound. Cry, father of Morar, cry! But your son will not hear you. Deep is the sleep of the dead, low is their pillow of dust. Never again will he hear your voice. never again will he awake at your call. When will the morning come to the tomb, to order the sleeper: "C'mon, wake up?"
Farewell, noblest amongst men and winner on the battlefield! But the field will never see you again. Never again your sword will shine in the dark forest! You didn't leave any children, but music will keep your name alive: the future will hear your name, of the fallen Morar.
Loud was the voice that cried for the heroes:louder was Armin's desperate sighing. He remembers his son's death. By the hero sat Carmor, prince of Galmal. Why is Armin crying? he said. why does one have to cry here? Aren't these songs full of joy and sweetness? They are like a soft mist that, crawling from the lake, expands in the valley and fills everything up. But then the sun comes back with all his strength, and the mist is gone. Why are you so sad, Armin, lord of Gorma surrounded by water?
Crying? Oh yes, I am, and it's not for nothing. You, Carmor, haven't lost a son, you haven't lost a daughter. Colgar is alive and alive is Annira, most beautiful among girls. The bows in your garden are flowering, oh Carmor! But Armin is the last of his family. Dark is your bed, oh Daura. Sad in the grave your sleep. When will you wake up with your songs, with your sweet voice?
C'mon, autumn winds, c'mon! Fall on the dark land! Waters, flow, howl in the forest!
Moon, creep through the broken clouds; show your pale face. Remind me of the terrible night when my children died, when Arindal and Daura died.
Oh Daura, my daugther, you were so beautiful! As beautiful as the moon on the plans of Fura, as white as fresh snow, as sweet as as the air we breathe. Arindal! Your bow was strong, your spear fast; your glare was like foam on the crest of the wave, and your shield like a cloud of fire in the storm.
Armar had come to ask the love of Daura: she hadn't resisted him long. They had good hopes.
Erath, son of Odgal, was angry because Armar had killed his brother. He came disguised as a sailor. His hip was beautiful on the waves; his hair was white from the years, his face severe.
"Oh beautiful amongst the ladies" he said "oh gentle daughter of Armin!THere by the cliff that is not far from the sea; there where the fruits shine red on the tree, Armar waits for Daura. I am here to lead his love across the sea."
SHe followed him and called for Armar; but only the voice of the rock answered. "Oh Armar, my love, why do you cause me so much pain? Listen to me, son of Arnath! Listen to me! THis is Daura!"
Erath, the traitor, ran away laughing. SHe shouted, called her father and brother:" Armin, Arindal! Will none of you save their Daura?"
Her voice ran across the sea. From the hill down came Arindal, my son, hardened by hunting. His spears resonated on his side. He held his bow and around him ran five dogs. He saw Erath on the shore, he grabbed him and tied him to a tre. So tied, he filled the wind with moans.
TO lead Daura back, Arindal went into the sea with Erath's boat. In that moment, Armar arrived angry and he killed Arindal, oh my son! Instead of the traitor Erath you lost your life! THe boat got to the shore and there you died. Your brother's blood wet your feet. And your mourning, Daura, was so long!
THe waves destroyed the boat. Armar threw himself in the sea to save Daura or to die. A wind blow beat the waves. He drowned and never reappeared again.
Alone, on the shore, I could hear my daughter's laments. Several and loud were her screams, but her father could not save her. All night I spent on the shore. I saw her in the dim moon light. All night I heard her scream. THe wind was noisy and the rain beat on the mountains. Her voice became weaker before sunrise, and she died like the morning breeze through the grass. SHe died from pain and she left Armin alone. My strength has vanished. My pride among women has gone. When snow storms come from the mountains, when the North wind lifts the waves up, I sit on this shore and look at the terrible cliff. Often. when the moon sets, I can see the spirits of my children.
Like soft lights they dance together in a quiet acceptance.

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