Targum eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 65 pages of information about Targum.

I see the cave, which receiv’d our feet
So kindly oft from the gloom of night,
Where the blazing tree with its genial heat
Within our bosoms awak’d delight.

On the flesh of the deer we fed our fill—­
Our drink was the Treigh, our music its wave;
Though the ghost shriek’d shrill, and bellow’d the hill,
’Twas pleasant, I trow, in that lonely cave.

I see Benn Ard of form so fair,
Of a thousand hills the Monarch proud;
On his side the wild deer make their lair,
His head’s the eternal couch of the cloud.

But vision of joy, and art thou flown? 
Return for a moment’s space, I pray,—­
Thou dost not hear—­ohone, ohone—­
Hills of my love, farewell for aye.

Farewell ye youths, so bold and free,
And fare ye well, ye maids divine! 
No more I can see ye—­yours is the glee
Of the summer, the gloom of the winter mine.

At noon-tide carry me into the sun,
To the bank by the side of the wandering stream,
To rest the shamrock and daisy upon,
And then will return of my youth the dream.

Place ye by my side my harp and shell,
And the shield, my fathers in battle bore;
Ye halls, where Oisin and Daoul {72} dwell,
Unclose—­for at eve I shall be no more.

Prophecy {73a} of Taliesin.

From the Ancient British.

      Within my mind
      I hold books confin’d,
Of Europa’s land all the mighty lore;
      O God of heaven high! 
      With how many a bitter sigh,
I my prophecy upon Troy’s line {73b} pour: 

      A serpent coiling,
      And with fury boiling,
From Germany coming with arm’d wings spread,
      Shall Britain fair subdue
      From the Lochlin ocean blue,
To where Severn rolls in her spacious bed.

      And British men
      Shall be captives then
To strangers from Saxonia’s strand;
      From God they shall not swerve,
      They their language shall preserve,
But except wild Wales, they shall lose their land.


From the Ancient British.

Talieson was a foundling, discovered in his infancy lying in a coracle, on a salmon-weir, in the domain of Elphin, a prince of North Wales, who became his patron.  During his life he arrogated to himself a supernatural descent and understanding, and for at least a thousand years after his death he was regarded by the descendants of the ancient Britons in the character of a prophet or something more.  The poems which he produced procured for him the title of “Bardic King;” they display much that is vigorous and original, but are disfigured by mysticism and extravagant metaphor; one of the most spirited of them is the following, which the Author calls his “Hanes” or history.

The head Bard’s place I hold
To Elphin, Chieftain bold;
The country of my birth
Was the Cherubs’ land of mirth;
I from the prophet John
The name of Merddin won;
And now the Monarchs all
Me Taliesin call.

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Targum from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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