Page:Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry - Meyer.djvu/33

 With him where his bloody 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.