Page:Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry - Meyer.djvu/35

 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.

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 hoard it, a close treasure, none of thy offspring
 * will ever be destitute.

There are around us here and there many spoils
 * of famous luck:

Horrible are the huge entrails which the Morrigan
 * 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 over-
 * come thee!