“Apples Trees” by Myrrdin Wyllt and “The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn” by Anonymous
Commonplace Book – Pages 91-92
‘Apple Trees’ by Myrrdin Wyllt
Sweet appletree that luxuriantly grows!
Food I used to take at is base to please a fair maid,
When, with my shield on my shoulder, and my sword on my thigh,
I slept all alone in the woods of Celyddon.
Hear, O Little pig! Now apply thyself to reason,
And listen to birds whose notes are pleasant,
Sovereigns across the sea will come on Monday;
Blessed will the Cymry be from that design.
Sweet appletree, which grows by the riverside!
With respect to it, the Keeper will not thrive on its splendid fruit,
While my reason was not aberrant, I used to be around its stem,
With a fair sportive maid, a paragon of splendid form.
With a fair sportive maid, a paragon, of splendid form.
Ten years and forty, as the toy of lawless ones,
Have I been wandering in gloom and among sprites…
Sweet appletree , and a tree of crimson hue,
which grew in concealment in the wood of Celyddon;
They sought for their fruit, it will be in vain,
Until Cadwaldyr comes form the conference of Rhyd Rheon,
And Cynon to meet him advances upon the Saxons;
The Cymry will be victorious, glorious will be their leader.
All shall have their rights, and the Brython will rejoice,
Sounding the horns of gladness, and chanting the song of peace and happiness!
The Sick-bed of Cuchulainn
I went in the twinkling of an eye
Into a marvellous country where I had been before.
I reached a cairn of twenty armies,
And there I found Labraid of the long hair.
I found him sitting on the cairn,
A great multitude of arms about him.
On his head his beautiful hair
Was decked with an apple of gold.
Although the time was long since my last visit
He recognized me by my five-fold purple mantle.
Said he, ‘Wilt thou come with me
Into the house where dwells Failbe the Fair?’
At the door toward the West,
On the side toward the setting sun,
There is a troop of grey horses with dappled manes,
And another troop of horses, purple-brown,
At the door toward the East
Are three trees of purple glass.
From their tops a flock of birds sing a sweet drawn-out song
For the children who live in the royal stronghold.
At the entrance to the enclosure is a tree
From whose branches comes beautiful and harmonious music.
It is a tree of silver, which the sun illuminates;
it glistens like gold.
There is a cauldron of invigorating mead,
For the use of the inmates of the house.
It never grows less; it is a custom
That it should be full forever.
There is a woman in the noble palace.
There is no woman like her in Erin.
When she goes forth you see her fair hair.
She is beautiful and endowed with many gifts.
