"George Bidder - Merlin's Youth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bidder George)

THE PRAYER OF THE PRIESTS

Great mountains, hear us!
Hear us, who deck in flowers your granite brows
And fill your cups with blood.

Great river, hear us!
Hear us, who pour our offerings on the wave,
Whose fairest in thy bosom have their grave.

Sun, hear us!
We give the best our bitter life allows
To thee, giver of good.

Gods of the forest, hear us!
Red drip the branches of your sacred trees:
What other gods there be, O hear us!
And scent our offerings on the evening breeze.

Round, round
We march in mystic rite;
Sound, sound
The trumpets to the Night:
She is coming from the east,
And the sacrifice, O priest,
Is alight.

Priest of the dawn,
Is there help?
Priest of the rocks,
Is there help?
Priest of the flood,
Priest of the wood,
Is there help?

Round, round
We march in mystic rite;
Sound, sound
The trumpets to the Night:
Take our foes, dying deep;
But we worship thee --
Let us sleep.

Priest of the Night,
Is there help?

Yet nearer closed the foe: the holy seers