The elegy of James Purcell of Loughmoe

"Alas for the one who has grief as a companion as my plight shows, my dejected state is enough to show the genuineness of my grief. I did not realize how spoilt I was by the son of Thomas with locks that curled like horns, until clay was thrown on that nobleman I lacked for nothing. The thought of Margaret's son revives my grief, since the news of his death was spread I have not a day's respite from weeping, continually bemoaning the noble man. O bed-fellow of your poet, steadfast scion of Geoffrey Rothe, musicians row keen you, star of knowledge of Gael and Gall. Your officers on going from Holy cross were filled with sadness at leaving you behind, as for me now that James is dead my sadness will endure for ever. Until he died the brave son of Thomas never crossed me, I did not at first realize the extent of my hurt in the death of a beloved patron, the elite of the Gall. For his poet it means ruin after all the favors he received, as always welcomed me whilst rejecting others. It is hard for me to cease grieving for him, woe to the one to whom grief of mind clings, my heard is not a physician that could help me to compose an elegy for the hero of Bregia. Until James' sail was lowered, both neighboring peoples, descendants of Gall and of Grecian Gael, looked to the curly-haired lord. Should anyone wish to praise him since he is dead they would say that the French of whose race he was were not anxious to seek quarrel with him. As long as he lives huge was the reckoning of what he bestowed on the poets of Ireland ever eager to fill our ears with the fame of that gallant Frenchman. To the son of Thomas I will say: seed does not sprout in barren soil so it is not surprising that because of your death the ground beneath the woods, however large, are bare of fruit. Your hope for the nobles of Ireland, o valiant descendant of Geoffrey, was that you would unite Gael and Gall, but your hope vanished suddenly. Your death as an outstanding noble of Ireland by taking you from us, o curly-haired lord, means that we poets who counted on the respect of your rule will now have to bend the knee. The poets of Ireland are so distressed and my own heart is utterly wounded, o ruly-hued wavy-haired lord, that because of your death Loughmoe will go to another king. I find it hard to remain among your officers weeping for my king, Purcells are your Norman officers, a pool of sadness well up in me. The noble rivers in the land of Ireland, prone clients about the hero of the Erne, rose up in angry spate above the woods after the death of their valiant earl. Know that Loughmoe is full of sadness and Killahara after the king, all wish to weep for the soldier and none thinks of stopping. A strange thing occurred in the household of the baron at the height of our mourning for the lion of fierce valor: the fire went dark. After the death of James Spring weather comes into Summer, bitter its blast, the withered shoots on the branches are signs of the unreasonable weather. Since the son of Thomas, graceful of form, died, there is no mast in Killahara, it was not hot weather that h armed the gleaming herds. Harsh weather towards Autumn with heavy rain from day to day, the death of the king was the convulsion that caused the perverse weather that blighted the nuts. As long as baron Thomas' son lived because of the presents he gave us few felt the need to compete for rewards from the generous, noble, powerful Frenchman. I am now about to make known an unfamiliar tale that has not been told before about the valiant knights of the Round Table, the history of the fellowship is its subject. It was taboo for King Arthur to go to feast in his mysterious white castle, even though it was a time for feasting, without meeting a fresh wonder on his way as a favor for it. King Arthur to whom all give allegiance sees a flagstone afloat on the stream of the city and follows the marvel on his way to feast, a token as required for his shining castle. The stone has a sword in its very center, soft the spot, a stone moving without being pushed, the king was full of wonder at it. As Sir Galahad of the burnished weapons, a brave knight intrepid in battle, won the palm when he first appeared he also won success at the end of his life. What harm would it be for the faithful followers of James if they died after him when it was fitting that after the death of the knight a hundred of his fellows died of grief for him. True is this tale that was told to me about the career of the brilliant knight, a shoot of the blood of kings descended from Remus, James was also a fruit of that seed. Equal in intensity was the grief I suffered as his poet and his confidant after the death of James, a grievous event, such stunning sorrow never struct me before. Though it is my duty as a poet to enumerate his exploits the truth is that it is not difficult for me to remember them, however numerous they were, it was my charge to keep an account of them He took heavy spoils from Tuath O'bhFarroll and despoiled Baile Eilith and Rescrea in turn, not need for concealment he left his memorials to his raids! Afterwards he plundered Cloghinch and Cloghonan, not an unlawful deed, and drove the remainder of the cattle out of their woods, he also took a prey of two from Ileagh. A spoil that the people of the son of Thomas, now lying beneath a gravestone, captured was the cattle they drove our from Colnmore before morning, many met their destiny as a result of the raid. Waiting for day-break until his scout gave the word James shared an early prey with him while the mist hid them in Kilnamanagh. As well as raiding Kilkeary he attacked Carrick - what need is there to tell of it, its fame beyond words, Clontarf cannot vie without it! A raid on Roscrea figures in his own battle-roll. The spirited lord despoiled the Owneys in turn and the graceful resolute nobleman took the cattle with him towards Lumhan. Having pillaged Fearann O Riarin the king of Loughmoe who jumped across moats penned in the cattle he had seized while the pursuit though Idrone was on. Part of what James captured from Clann Ruaidhri, great was the spoil, were the cattle he had left behind at Dunnamona when the pursuit started. The booty of Cullahill, a prey that went in one herd through the woods of Clonmeen, was part of the cattle of Upper Ossory. James seized a bold prey from Coil Tarsna, fine the capture, soon afterwards the noise of cattle being driven towards Clonmel could be heard. Cattle from the bawns of Gortnachlochy was taken in a raid on Philip Hackett, bold the attack, and audacious how at the same time he seized cattle from Barnane-Ely. The Purcells drove herds of Clann Piarais cattle before them, on getting a chance to attack Walter, James, hero of the Moy, rejoiced at the spoils. The prey he took from Guirtin Classach, Cluain O Sgilleog, was a bloody affray, his people burned Newton and the mist did not cover the slaughter of all. He took spooils fro Noan, what greater insult to the son of Thomas who did not brook pposition than the attempt to intercept him at Atheradh as he was driving away Piers Laffan's cattle. In Graffan amongst the O'Meaghers before leaving James pillaged them on all sides and won the stook of Tullow from that day's raid. Meeting in arms towards morning the son of Margaret, his fame was greater for it, hid the cattle he had already captured until he took a prey from Drumcullen. Because of his greed the curly-haired lord left Mac Aedha without a single cow, the Man of Gleann Mach will not retain the cattl he seized from us! The baron captured the booty from Thurlesbeg and from Ballysheahan to the east of it, he searched the woods and rounded up cattle from Fithmoyne that lay beyond it. Marching by the light of morning the son of Thomas, it did not portend ill-luck, went from Offey with a large spoil of cattle by day. From the O'Brennands, what an insult, the son of Thomas took his choice, in Ideogh he did not leave as much as a single Norman cow. In his attack on Ballyveahasa the son of Thomas, great the victory, made a double capture counting the cows of Ettagh in the spoils. As I am recollecting the exploits of Jaems, rudy of skin, after him everyone seems spiritless as I recall his return at noon bringing a large prey. The baron made a raid on Cuanlocht and on Baile Poil close by, in an attack on Loch Luachra he captured the pick before his horse had time to cool. The expedition of the Roches is an event I recall, great the havoc, when it was not far from [missing word in the script] James routed it through white-hazled Slievecrot. I must include in you battle-roll, o wavy-haired lord, how you put the O'Meaghers to flight from Killahara and won fame from having over-powered them. You depleted the territory of the Clanna, an outstanding deed that made you famous, the fullness of your fame spread abroad when you seized spoils from Urlar that same day. In Thurles the going was easy, James, it is of small account among his deeds, took their horses from the soldiers of the Gael having captured the cattle and persons from them. The son of Thomas, firm his promise, took a prey from Muscry before morning, he death is the cause of my anguish the loss of a friend has befallen me. He ravaged Ballynahincy and Grantstown, it was not a close-pressed affray, he captured their cattle from the two towns, well had they reason to be on their guard against him! I will not tell in his battle-roll of the prize trophy that Death won, I will not speak of him to another but he has gone to another lord away from me. Those who sorrowed for James are scattered in all directions, as for me I will ever cease to grieve for the king, alas for the one who does not think so."