Calum. Oh, Ian, wake and see the face of Christ,
The worn sad face, the pitiful sweet eyes,
And the feet torn and bloody from the stones.
The worn sad face, the pitiful sweet eyes,
And the feet torn and bloody from the stones.
Alastair. Dream on, dream on my brother, forget the man of sorrow,
The way-worn feet and bloody, the eyes too dim with tears.
Dream of the lords of beauty, for you shall see to-morrow
The older day returning and the forgotten years.
The way-worn feet and bloody, the eyes too dim with tears.
Dream of the lords of beauty, for you shall see to-morrow
The older day returning and the forgotten years.
Ian. The slow tides calling, calling on the beach,
And all the little waves of night afire,
And the cool emerald depths of Lior’s eyes,
That none may look upon and live again.
Oh beautiful cool depths to drown my life,—
I have remembered Lior, and the moon
Is full again and there is mist abroad,
And Angus singing clear upon the hills.
Oh young men follow Angus of the Birds,
Young maidens dance with him below the moon.
You will grow old and hear his song no more.
Oh, follow Angus now while you are young.—
Angus has passed me by, but Balor’s fires
Burn fiercely in my bosom as of old,
The lust of slaying, and the bitter blood,
And all the little waves of night afire,
And the cool emerald depths of Lior’s eyes,
That none may look upon and live again.
Oh beautiful cool depths to drown my life,—
I have remembered Lior, and the moon
Is full again and there is mist abroad,
And Angus singing clear upon the hills.
Oh young men follow Angus of the Birds,
Young maidens dance with him below the moon.
You will grow old and hear his song no more.
Oh, follow Angus now while you are young.—
Angus has passed me by, but Balor’s fires
Burn fiercely in my bosom as of old,
The lust of slaying, and the bitter blood,
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