The German
Sehnsucht itself is a wistful, soft, tearful longing, rather than a
struggling, fierce, passionate one. But the Celtic melancholy is
struggling, fierce, passionate; to catch its note, listen to Llywarch
Hen in old age, addressing his crutch:-
O my crutch! is it not autumn, when the fern is red, the water. flag
yellow? Have I not hated that which I love?
O my crutch! is it not winter-time now, when men talk together after
that they have drunken? Is not the side of my bed left desolate?
O my crutch! is it not spring, when the cuckoo passes through the
air, when the foam sparkles on the sea? The young maidens no longer
love me.
O my crutch! is it not the first day of May? The furrows, are they
not shining; the young corn, is it not springing? Ah! the sight of
thy handle makes me wroth.
O my crutch! stand straight, thou wilt support me the better; it is
very long since I was Llywarch.
Behold old age, which makes sport of me, from the hair of my head to
my teeth, to my eyes, which women loved.
The four things I have all my life most hated fall upon me together,-
-coughing and old age, sickness and sorrow.
I am old, I am alone, shapeliness and warmth are gone from me; the
couch of honour shall be no more mine: I am miserable, I am bent on
my crutch.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148