A little flock from Iceland

I. Lón Swans in Iceland: white on black. Westward come wending, appearing in pairs; Strong wing beats thunder in crystalline air; Willfull to breed on the bourn of despair. Iceland, Ireland: out, and back. Men in longships, helmets bright, Brought with them dozens of Ireland’s daughters. Redhaired and whiterobed, just as they caught her, One of them walks all alone by the water, Chanting her heartsong to the night. “Eala naofa: Tromhad annall! Mine are the people that open the granary, Hallow the homelinn and safeguard the eyrie. Hear when I cry to you; come to me swiftly! An cuidich sibh mi do comhall? “Seek a swan without a wife: Kelwyn mac Boynton, of husbands the best. When he will once lay his head on my breast, It’s I will go swim with him, even to death, Swan to be, beyond this life.”