Is the plain on which the hosts hold games:
Coracle contends against chariot
In Silver-white Plain[3] to the south.

Pedestals of white bronze underneath
Glittering through ages of beauty:
Fairest land throughout the world,
On which the many blossoms drop.

An ancient tree there is in bloom,
On which birds call to the Hours:
In harmony of song they all are wont
To chant together every Hour.

Colours of every shade glisten
Throughout the gentle-voiced plains:
Joy is known, ranked around music,
In Silver-cloud Plain[3] to the south.

Unknown is wailing or treachery
In the homely cultivated land:
There is nothing rough or harsh,
But sweet music striking on the ear.

Without grief, without gloom, without death,
Without any sickness or debility--
That is the sign of Evin:
Uncommon is the like of such a marvel.

A beauty of a wondrous land,
Whose aspects are lovely,
Whose view is wondrous fair,
Incomparable is its haze.[4]

Then if Silverland[5] is seen,
On which dragon-stones and crystals drop--
The sea washes the wave against the land,
A crystal spray drops from its mane.

Wealth, treasures of every hue
Are in the Land of Peace[5]--a beauty of freshness:
There is listening to sweet music,
Drinking of the choicest wine.

Golden chariots on the plain of the sea
Heaving with the tide to the sun:
Chariots of silver on the Plain of Sports,[5]
And of bronze that has no blemish.

Steeds of yellow gold are on the sward there,
Other steeds with crimson colour,
Others again with a coat upon their backs
Of the hue of all-blue heaven.

At sunrise there comes
A fair man illumining level lands:
He rides upon the white sea-washed plain,
He stirs the ocean till it is blood.

A host comes across the clear sea,
They exhibit their rowing to the land:
Then they row to the shining stone
From which arises music a hundredfold.

It sings a strain unto the host
Through ages long, it is never weary:
Its music swells with choruses of hundreds--
They expect neither decay nor death.

Many-shaped Evna by the sea,
Whether it be nea