Ancient Irish Poetry Part 10

The music of the forest Would sing to me when with Curithir, Together with the voice of the purple sea.

Would that Nothing of all I have done Should have wrung his heart against me!

Conceal it not!

He was my heart's love, Whatever else I might love.

A roaring flame Has dissolved this heart of mine-- Without him for certain it cannot live.

BARDIC POETRY

A DIRGE FOR KING NIALL OF THE NINE HOSTAGES (+ A.D. 405)

TUIRN SON OF TORNA

When we used to go to the gathering with Echu's[15] son, Yellow as a bright primrose was the hair upon the head of Cairenn's[16]

son.

TORNA

Well hast thou spoken, dear son. A bondmaid should be given thee For the sake of the hair which thou hast likened to the colour of the crown of the primrose.

Eyelashes black, delicate, equal in beauty, and dark eyebrows-- The crown of the woad, a bright hyacinth, that was the colour of his pupils.

TUIRN SON OF TORNA

The colour of his cheeks at all seasons, even and symmetrical: The fox-glove, the blood of a calf--a feast without a flaw! the crown of the forest in May.

TORNA

His white teeth, his red lips that never reproved in anger-- His shape like a fiery blaze overtopping the warriors of Erin.

Like the moon, like the sun, like a fiery beacon was the splendour of Niall: Like a dragon-s.h.i.+p from the wave without a flaw was Niall, Echu's son.

TUIRN SON OF TORNA

This is a yearnful music, the wail of every mouth in Kerry-- It increases my grief in my house for the death of Muredach's[17]

grandson.

Saxons will ravage here in the east, n.o.ble men of Erin and Alba, After the death of Niall, Echu's n.o.ble son--it is a bitter cause of reproach.

TORNA

Saxons with overwhelming cries of war, hosts of Lombards from the continent, From the hour in which the king fell Gael and Pict are in a sore straight.

TUIRN SON OF TORNA

Upon Tara's rampart his fair hair shone against his ruddy face: Like unto the colour of his hair is red gold or the yellow iris.

TORNA

'Twas great delight, 'twas great peace to be in the company of my dear foster-son,[18]

When with Echu's son--it was no small thing--we used to go to the gathering.

TUIRN SON OF TORNA

Darling hero of the white shoulder! whose tribes are vast, a beloved host: Every man was under protection when we used to go to forgather with him.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 15: Niall's father.]

[Footnote 16: Niall's mother.]

[Footnote 17: Niall's grandfather.]

[Footnote 18: _i.e._ Niall.]

THE SONG OF CARROLL'S SWORD (A.D. 909)

Hail, sword of Carroll! Oft hast thou been in the great woof of war, Oft giving battle, beheading high princes.

Oft hast thou gone a-raiding in the hands of kings of great judgments, Oft hast thou divided the spoil with a good king worthy of thee.

Oft where men of Leinster were hast thou been in a white hand, Oft hast thou been among kings, oft among great bands.

Many were the kings that wielded thee in fight, Many a s.h.i.+eld hast thou cleft in battle, many a head and chest, many a fair skin.

Forty years without sorrow Enna of the n.o.ble hosts had thee, Never wast thou in a strait, but in the hands of a very fierce king.

Enna gave thee--'twas no n.i.g.g.ardly gift--to his own son, to Dunling, For thirty years in his possession, at last thou broughtest ruin to him.

Many a king upon a n.o.ble steed possessed thee unto Dermot the kingly, the fierce: Sixteen years was the time Dermot had thee.

At the feast of Allen Dermot the hardy-born bestowed thee, Dermot, the n.o.ble king, gave thee to the man of Mairg, to Murigan.

Forty years stoutly thou wast in the hand of Allen's high-king, With Murigan of mighty deeds thou never wast a year without battle.

In Wexford Murigan, the King of Vikings, gave thee to Carroll: While he was upon the yellow earth Carroll gave thee to none.