Page:Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry - Meyer.djvu/36

 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!