Manannán Beg Mac y Leirr
[Translated from the Manx, traditional song]
If you would listen to my story,
I will pronounce my chant
As best I can; I will, with my mouth,
Give you notice of the enchanted Island.
Who he was that had it first,
And then what happened to him;
And how St. Patrick brought in Christianity,
And how it came to Stanley.
Little Manannán was son of Leir,
He was the first that ever had it;
But as I can best conceive,
He himself was a heathen.
It was not with his sword he kept it,
Neither with arrows or bow,
But when he would see ships saving,
He would cover it round with a fog.
He would set a man, standing on a hill,
Appear as if he were a hundred;
And thus did wild Manannán protect
That Island with all its booty.
The rent each landholder paid to him was,
A bunge of coarse meadow grass yearly,
And that, as their yearly tax,
They paid to him each midsummer eve.
Some would carry the grass up,
To the great mountain up at Barrool;
Others would leave the grass below,
With Manannán’s self, above Keamool.
Thus then did they live;
O l think their tribute very small,
Without care and without anxiety,
Or hard labour to cause weariness.
