Ancient Irish Poetry Part 2

Swiftly Cu-Domna reached us, making for his namesake: On the hill of the encounter the body of Flann the Little will be found.

With him where his b.l.o.o.d.y bed is thou wilt find eight men: Though we thought them feeble, the leavings of the weapon of Mughirne's son.

Not feebly fights Falvey the Red; the play of his spear-strings withers the host; Ferchorb of radiant body leapt upon the field and dealt seven murderous blows.

Front to front twelve warriors stood against me in mutual fight: Not one of them all remains that I did not leave in slaughter.

Then we two exchanged spears, I and Alill, Eoghan's son: We both perished--O the fierceness of those stout thrusts!

We fell by each other though it was senseless: it was the encounter of two heroes.

Do not await the terror of night on the battle-field among the slain warriors: One should not hold converse with ghosts! betake thee home, carry my spoils with thee!

Every one will tell thee that mine was not the raiment of a churl: A crimson cloak and a white tunic, a belt of silver, no paltry work!

My five-edged spear, a murderous lance, whose slaughters have been many; A shield with five circles and a boss of bronze, by which they used to swear binding oaths.

The white cup of my cup-bearer, a shining gem, will glitter before thee; My golden finger-ring, my bracelets, treasures without a flaw, King Nia Nar had brought them over the sea.

Cailte's brooch, a pin with luck, it was one of his marvellous treasures: Two heads of silver round a head of gold, a goodly piece, though small.

My draught-board--no mean treasure!--is thine; take it with thee.

n.o.ble blood drips on its rim, it lies not far hence.

Many a body of the spear-armed host lies here and there around its crimson woof; A dense bush of the ruddy oak-wood conceals it by the side of the grave.

As thou carefully searchest for it thou shouldst not speak much: Earth never covered anything so marvellous.

One half of its pieces are yellow gold, the other are white bronze; Its woof is of pearls; it is the wonder of smiths how it was wrought.

The bag for its pieces,--'tis a marvel of a story--its rim is embroidered with gold; The master-smith has left a lock upon it which no ignorant person can open.

A four-cornered casket,--it is but tiny--made of coils of red gold; One hundred ounces of white bronze have been put into it firmly.

For it is of a coil of firm red gold, Dinoll the goldsmith brought it over the sea; Even one of its clasps only has been priced at seven slave-women.[8]

Memories describe it as one of Turvey's master-works: In the time of Art--he was a luxurious king--'tis then Turvey, lord of many herds, made it.

Smiths never made any work comparable with it; Earth never hid a king's jewel so marvellous.

If thou be cunning as to its price, I know thy children will never be in want; If thou h.o.a.rd it, a close treasure, none of thy offspring will ever be dest.i.tute.

There are around us here and there many spoils of famous luck: Horrible are the huge entrails which the Morrigan[9] washes.

She came to us from the edge of a spear, 'tis she that egged us on.

Many are the spoils she washes, terrible the hateful laugh she laughs.

She has flung her mane over her back--it is a stout heart that will not quail at her: Though she is so near to us, do not let fear overcome thee!

In the morning I shall part from all that is human, I shall follow the warrior-band; Go to thy house, stay not here, the end of the night is at hand.

Some one will at all times remember this song of Fothad Canann; My discourse with thee shall not be unrenowned, if thou remember my bequest.

Since my grave will be frequented, let a conspicuous tomb be raised; Thy trouble for thy love is no loss of labour.

My riddled body must now part from thee awhile, my soul to be tortured by the black demon.

Save for the worship of Heaven's King, love of this world is folly.

I hear the dusky ousel that sends a joyous greeting to all the faithful: My speech, my shape are spectral--hush, woman, do not speak to me!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: A kenning for a band of warriors. 'The flowers of the forest have all wede away.']

[Footnote 7: A famous mythical hero.]

[Footnote 8: A slave-woman (rated at three cows) was the standard of value among the ancient Irish.]

[Footnote 9: A battle-G.o.ddess.]

DEIRDRE'S FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND

A beloved land is yon land in the east, Alba[10] with its marvels.

I would not have come hither[11] out of it, Had I not come with Noisi.

Beloved are Dun Fidga and Dun Finn, Beloved is the fortress above them, Beloved is the Isle of the Thorn-bush, And beloved is Dun Sweeny.

Caill Cuan!

Unto which Ainnle would go, alas!

Short we thought the time there, Noisi and I in the land of Alba.

Glen Lay!

There I used to sleep under a shapely rock.

Fish and venison and badger's fat, That was my portion in Glen Lay.

Glen Ma.s.san!

Tall is its wild garlic, white are its stalks: We used to have a broken sleep On the gra.s.sy river-mouth of Ma.s.san.

Glen Etive!

There I raised my first house.

Delightful its house! when we rose in the morning A sunny cattle-fold was Glen Etive.

Glen Urchain!

That was the straight, fair-ridged glen!

Never was man of his age prouder Than Noisi in Glen Urchain.