BOOK XIV

At time of the delightfulness and beauty Of the red light of morning, Al-yill rose From out his royal tent on Slane of Meath, And said: “From Sowin until spring-tide now We have been devastating, wasting, burning All Ulster and all Crithny. We have taken From the rich folk of Ulster and of Crithny Their wives and sons and tender little ones, Their steeds and flocks of mares, their herds of kine, Their herds of every sort of grazing kine; And we have levelled down their turfy knolls, Till all their glens and trenches are filled up After our track. Therefore, this being so, I will no longer tarry on this plain; But let them give me battle on Moy Wee If so they will. And still, whate’er we say, Let some one go from us to view yon plain, The great wide plain of Meath, that we may know Whether as yet the men of Ulster come Upon that plain; and if indeed they come, We will not flee unto our rath, it being Unkingly so to flee before a foe.” “Who shall go forth to view the plain?” asked each. “Who but Mac Roth, who is chief-messenger Of Erin all,” said Al-yill; “he stands here.” Mac Roth went forth to view and to survey The clear, wide plain of Meath. Anon he heard, Floating from far away, a muffled roar, A crackling, thunderous murmur, and deep din Of many mingled sounds. It seemed to him To mean no trifling thing—rather it seemed That the secure and solid firmament Descended on the firm face of the earth, Or that the boundless and blue-breasted sea O’erflowed the thick-haired forehead of the world, Or that the earth itself trembled and moved In some tremendous earthquake; or, at least, That the primeval and huge forest trees Fell, each upon the other, caught and grasped Each by the other’s forked and branching boughs. One thing was certain: the wild forest-beasts Were from the distant forest fleeing forth, So that the heath and grass of the wide plain Might not be seen beneath them. And Mac Roth Went to relate his tidings at the place Where Maev and Al-yill were, and Fergus was With all the chiefs. And there he told his tale. “What may that mean, O Fergus?” questioned Maev. “Not difficult,” said Fergus. “The dim roar, And crackling, thunderous murmur which he heard Mean that the northern warriors have awaked From their long Kesh, and now with sword and axe Attack the ancient forest, hewing there A road before their chariots; and all beasts Who in the forest dwell flee forth in fright, So that the heath and grass of the wide plain May not be seen beneath them.” Once again Mac Roth went forth to view the plain. He saw, Hovering far away ’twixt earth and sky, A long, grey mist. It seemed to him he saw, Rising from out the hollows and the dells Of the dim mist, clear eminences, firm, And like dark isles in silver-hollow lakes. He thought that he discerned in the forefront Of the same mist, deep, groaning caves and dens; And, at their openings, fair, white linen cloths Blown by the wind; or a white fairy snow Soft drifting by. And then he seemed to see, Fluttering through the mist, a scattered flock Of various birds, all strange and wonderful; And seemed again to see that the same mist Was spangled all along, as with bright sparks Of newly-kindled fire, or as with stars, Clear-shining on a bright, still night of frost. And while he gazed he heard a growing roar Of mingled booming, crying, thundering, With shrill, sharp snaps and thuds, ringings and cheers, All floating towards him on the eastern wind. And he returned and came unto the place Where Maev and Al-yill were, and Fergus was, With all the chiefs: and there he told his tale. “What may that mean, O Fergus?” Al-yill asked. “Not difficult,” said Fergus; “that grey mist, Which rose between the heaven and the earth, Was the white, cloudy breath of steeds and men, Fiercely expelled, and mingled with the sand And whirling dust and soilure of the plain. Those little darkling heights and crests he saw, Peeping from out the hollows of the mist— They were the heads of kings and mighty men, High-towering o’er their chariots. And the dens And deep engulfing caverns he discerned— They were the mouths and nostrils of the steeds And mighty men, opened, distended wide, Strongly respiring the free air and wind. And what unto Mac Roth seemed fairy snow Or linen-web was the white foam and froth Flung from the bridle-bits of fiery steeds, Urging their course with strength and vehemence. Again, what to Mac Roth seemed flocks of birds, All varied, numerous, strange, and wonderful, Were the quick turves and sods shot from the hooves Of the same fiery steeds as on they come. And all the mingled uproar that he heard Was the loud shield-cry of the mighty shields, The hissing of the spears, ringing of swords, Clangour of helmets, friction manifold Of high-suspended weapons, and, besides, Creaking of cords and ropes, grinding of wheels, Tramping of steeds, and, through and over all, The ceaseless tread of battle-warriors there, Swift marching towards us o’er the plain of Meath. Lastly, the brilliant spanglings which he saw, Like stars of night, or sparks from ruddy fire— Those were the terrible and flaming eyes Of heroes and of warriors gleaming bright Beneath their shapely helmets. Angrily They shine and glow. And this I say to you, There ne’er have been, and ne’er will be again, Men like to those Ultonian men for fury And battle-anger and the rage of war.” “We care but little for all this,” said Maev; “With us there are good youths and fighting-men Who will know how to greet them.” “Think not so,” Said Fergus; “this is truth and not a lie— That not in Erin, not in all the world, From Greece and Scythia to the Isles of Orc And Isles of Gat, and south to Bregan’s Tower, May ye find hosts to quell Ultonian hosts, Whose rage and anger have been once aroused.”

That day the men of Erin left their camp In Slane of Meath; and, moving towards the west, Encamped at night in Clahra. When the sun Rose the next morn and shined with glowing face Above the fair-banked edges of the world— “Good now, O men of Erin!” Al-yill said; “Let some one go from us to view the plain— The great wide plain of Meath; and let him see Whether the men of Ulster yet have come To Slane of Meath where we were yesterday; And let him bring to us a true account Of all their arms and war-accoutrements, Their kings and heroes and their well-known chiefs, Their breakers of great rifts in battle-ranks, With all their troops from all their different lands. To hear these all described will be to us A pastime and will while away the morn.” “Who then shall go?” they asked. “Who but Mac Roth?” Said Al-yill. So Mac Roth went forth once more; And he took up his post in Slane of Meath, Over against the men of Ulster there. From early morning till the evening fell, The Ulster hosts arrived in Slane of Meath. So great their numbers that in all that time The land was ne’er left naked, but was clothed By moving throngs. All orderly they came; For every throng surrounded its own king, And every band its lord. Each chief and lord, With the full muster of his hosting, camped In a clear place apart. When evening fell, All had arrived and camped in Slane of Meath. Mac Roth delayed not till the night had come, But, when the first three powerful bands arrived, Returned to tell his tale. “Good now, Mac Roth,” Said Al-yill; “in what order do they come, And who came first?” “I know not,” said Mac Roth, “But first there came an ardent, stalwart band Of very noble aspect. I esteemed Their numbers to be thrice three thousand. All, Quick flinging off their raiment, dug the earth, And lifted sods, and raised a mighty mound High on the rounded summit of a hill, To be a seat and station for their lord. And he, their lord, was tall and thinly-built, Courteous and proud, of princeliest way and style, Accustomed to command and to restrain, And awful was his kingly gleaming eye. His yellow bush of crispéd drooping hair; His trimly forking beard; his crimson fooan, Folding five times about him; the gold pin Above his breast; the layna next his skin, Of purest white, adorned with threads of gold, Were all of princely mode. He wore, besides, A white-bright shield, adorned with monstrous beasts In deep red gold. In the one hand he bore A golden-hilted sword, and in the other A wide, grey spear. This warrior took his seat High on the mound, and calmly waited there Till all the rest should come; and his own troop Sat down there round about him. Next there came Two bands of thirty hundred, both alike In discipline and number and array. The man who led the first of these had hair And beard like crispéd gold. His warrior’s layna, Of good brown-red with gold embroidery, Descended to his knees; and over it He wore a greenish bratt, with silver clasp. Besides his shield and ivory-hilted sword With golden thread-work, in his hand he bore A shining spear secured with silver bands And clasps of gold; and marvellous the games Played by that spear held in the warrior’s hand; For first the silver bands whirled and revolved Over the clasps of gold from butt to socket, And after that the clasps of gold revolved Above the bands of silver back again. This warrior sat upon the left-hand side Of the great chief who earliest reached the hill; And his own band sat round him. ‘Sat,’ I said, Nay, but with knee to ground and shield to chin, They waited to spring towards us. One thing more, The leader of that band—he with the spear— Wore on his head a mĭnd of glorious gold. The second of those two companion-bands Was ruled o’er by a man sedate, grey-haired, With wide, white brow, and shrewd and kindly eyes. About his chin there hung a long, grey beard, Forking and slender. And his fair apparel Was all of silvery white and darkest grey. For dark grey was his bratt with leafy brooch Of white findrinny; and of purest white The layna next his skin. His shield was white, Adorned with silver. At his shoulder’s height I saw a bough of bronze. This warrior sat High on the mound in presence of the chief Who first arrived there; and I say to you, Sweeter than murmuring of crested harps In hands of skilful players was the sound Of that man’s voice discoursing with the chief Who came first to the hill, and giving him Wise admonition and discreet advice.” “Who may these be, O Fergus?” Al-yill said. “Assuredly, I know,” said Fergus; “he, For whom was raised a mighty mound of sods Where he might sit till all the rest should come, Was Conor son of Fahtna Fahee son Of Ross the Red-haired son of Rury More— Conor, high-king of Ulster, and the son Of a high-king of Erin. He who came And sat on Conor’s left, and wore a mĭnd Of glorious gold, was Cooscree Mend of Maha, From Innish Cooscree. He is Conor’s son, And leads into the war the youthful sons Of lesser Ulster kings, besides the sons Of kings of Erin in his fosterage. The wondrous spear he has, with silver bands And clasps of gold, is known as Cooscree’s Candle. And this, now, is the manner of that spear— The bands of silver never do revolve Around the clasps of gold but at a time When some great prey is nigh. I therefore think They now revolve in sight of some huge prey And near-approaching slaughter. And for him, The wide-browed, gentle hero who did sit In Conor’s presence, and did speak with him, Who could that be but Shenca? he who owns The sweetest oratory and eloquence Of all the men of Erin; he whose words Of eloquence and oratory calm The hosts of Ulster; he who with three words Might calm the war and tumult of the world. Howbeit, I give my word that at this time They are no timorous counsels which he gives Unto his lord, but counsels to fight well, And do great deeds of battle and of courage. Yea, and I give my word,” Fergus exclaimed, “They are deed-doing men who woke from sleep, Round about Conor at earliest dawn to-day!” “I make no great account of them,” said Maev; “With us there are good youths and fighting-men, Who will know how to greet them.” “Nay, not so,” Said Fergus; “this is truth and not a lie,— That not in Erin, not in all the world, From Greece and Scythia to the Isles of Orc And Isles of Gat, and south to Bregan’s Tower, May ye find hosts to quell Ultonian hosts, Whose rage and anger have been once aroused.” Once more Mac Roth went out from them to view The wide great plain of Meath. He watched each band Arrive in Slane of Meath. When all had come, Almost at meeting-point of night with day, He came again with tidings to the place Where Maev and Al-yill were, and Fergus was, With all the chiefs, there to relate his tale.

“There came another band unto that hill In Slane of Meath,” Mac Roth continued then. “It is no lie; with raging impetus They gained that hill; and heavy was the dread, And huge the terror they conveyed. Their cloaks Streamed in the air behind them. In their front I saw a valorous leader, whose huge head Was streaked with sparse, grey hairs; and in that head Blazed yellow, full, large eyes. A yellow bratt Fell round about him; and a pin of gold Was in that o’er his breast. A yellow layna Lay next his skin. A wide, long-shafted spear Was in that warrior’s hand. A drop of blood Gleamed on its edge.” “What man was that, O Fergus?” Al-yill demanded. “Well I know,” said Fergus. “Nor single challenger nor mighty host Escapes that hero who approaches there; For that is Laery the Victorious, son Of Connud Boy, the son of that same Illiah, Who of late came from Immil in the north, And in his old age died assailing you.”

“There came another band to that same hill,” Mac Roth went on. “A great thick-sided man Commanded it. In truth, it little wanted But that each brawny leg and limb of him Was thicker than a mean man’s trunk! No lie! He is indeed a man! Brown, bushy hair He had upon him; and beneath the hair A scarred, blue-crimson face, and in the face High-up, bright-speckled eyes. He was, moreover, Noble and energetic. All his men Were dark-skinned, dark-eyed; and their red-bronze spears Flamed bright. They seemed not subject unto Conor.” “Who is that, Fergus?” Al-yill asked. “I know, In truth I know,” said Fergus. “He, who there Approaches, is as one embodied thirst For battle. He is a great lord of arms Above the men of Erin in the north; For he is my own foster-brother, Fergus The son of Leddy, from his wealthy rath In fertile green Moy Linny of the north.”

“There came another band unto that hill,” Mac Roth went on. “A four-square, bull-like man Commanded it; and he had bulging eyes, Grey, and set low down in his head. His hair Was curled and yellow; and a scarlet shield, Rimmed with hard silver, made a huge, bright disk Behind his head and shoulders. In his hand He held a smooth, long spear. A grayish bratt Fell round him, and a copper yō secured it Above his mighty chest. His hooded layna, Being up-girded, reached but to his thighs. Upon his left leg was a short, straight dagger.” “Who was that, Fergus?” Al-yill asked. “I know,” Said Fergus. “He is a stockade of battle Against the face of all of you who go there; For he is Connud the great son of Morna, From green-banked, gentle Callan in the north.”

“There came another band unto that hill,” Mac Roth went on, “and they were firm of tread, And wondrously and diversely attired. A beautiful, unresting hero led That band; and he was robed in fine blue cloth, Which was adorned with stooags of findrinny, And at the openings of the garment bore Rich red gold buttons of distinctive stamp And character. Outside he wore a bratt Freaked out with every privileged tint and hue. He had five wheels of gold, namely, his shield. He had a dagger-straight, hard sword. His spear, Ridgéd and straight, flamed redly in his hand.” “Who might that be, O Fergus?” Al-yill asked. “In truth, I recognize him,” Fergus said. “He is the choicest of all kingly poets; He is a road of learning and of wisdom; For he is Avverguin the great, good poet, And son of Ecket, the old smith and brazier— Avverguin from the Bush in the far north.”

“There came another band unto that hill,” Mac Roth continued. “Two soft, tender youths Went in the forefront of that band. Two bratts Of greenish hue were round them; two cassawns Of whitest silver clasped these o’er their breasts; Two laynas of smooth, yellow silk were next Their bird-white skin; and two white-hilted swords Hung at their girdles. Two five-barbéd spears With silver rings were in their hands. There seemed But little difference in age between them.” “Who were those two, O Fergus?” Al-yill asked. “I know indeed,” said Fergus. “Two of one counsel, Two of one teaching, two alike in valour, Two fires, two flames, two torches equal burning, Two Ulster champions always next their king. Those there are Feeaha and Feeacna, Two sons of Conor son of Fahtna son Of Ross the Red-haired son to Rury More.”

“Another band arrived upon that plain,” Mac Roth continued; “and it was commanded By a white-chested, very comely hero, Much like to Al-yill there in form and style, In strength and whiteness, in array and arms, In bounty and in valour. On his head He wore a mĭnd of gold. His shield was rimmed With gold. His sword-hilt was adorned with gold. His towering, five-barbed spear had gold upon it.” “Who was that hero, Fergus?” Al-yill asked. “I know that hero,” Fergus said. “His heart Is hard as is a flagstone, yet it has The rage of fire. He drives his enemies, E’en as a charioteer drives two swift steeds; For he is Foorbee Faerbenn son of Conor, From Conor’s own Moy Innish in the north.”

“There came another band unto that plain,” Mac Roth went on. “An all-white, powerful hero Commanded it. His eyes and hair and beard, His raiment and accoutrements, were all Of the one whiteness. Only his great shield Was rimmed with yellow gold, and his long sword Was golden-hilted. His tall five-barbed spear, Held in his hand, showed high o’er all the hosts.” “Who may that be, O Fergus?” Al-yill asked, “Know’st thou perchance?” “Indeed, I know,” said Fergus. “Belovéd in our country of the north Is that white hero who draws near you there; Belovéd is that bear of blows and combats; Belovéd is that mountain-bear of actions; That is white Faeradah, the just and famous, From Nemud in Slieve Fooid in the north.”

“Another band arrived upon that hill,” Mac Roth went on. “A big and stalwart man Walked in its front. Red, fiery-tinted hair Was on him; and huge, fiery-tinted eyes Blazed in his head. He wore a mottled bratt. His shield was green; his spear rose thin and blue; His troop around him was all gory-red; And he himself amidst them was all red, Bloody, and scarred with numerous hurts and wounds.” “Who was that man, O Fergus?” Al-yill asked. “I know him well,” said Fergus. “He, indeed, Is an illustrious, kinglike beast of combat. He is a raging bull, blocking a pass; He is the challenger of Inver Colpa, And is the fortress-gate to all north Erin; For he is Mend son of Salcolgan, and hails From the north sand-spits of the white-bright Boyne. ’Tis to avenge the prey which you have taken That he now comes against you,” Fergus said.

“There came another band unto that plain,” Mac Roth went on. “In its forefront I saw A corpulent, thick-throated hero,—black His hair, and bushy, and his face all scarred And crimson. Brightly sparkled his green eyes Within his head. His spear had guarded eyelets. His black shield had a rim of hard findrinny. His bratt was of chill grey, clasped with pale gold. A layna of striped silk lay next his skin. His sword, which was adorned with carven bone And twisted work of golden threads, he wore Upon the outside of his raiment.” “Who Was that, O Fergus?” Al-yill asked. “I know,” Said Fergus. “He is as a spring-tide wave Drowning small gentle streams upon the shore. He is thick-necked Munn-rower son of Guerkind, From the Mourne Territory in the north.”

“There came another band unto that plain,” Mac Roth said. “Verily they seemed to be In multitude, a huge and drowning flood; In ardour, a red flame; in strength, a cliff; In violence, a thunderstorm; in force, A winter-torrent. In their front I saw A raging, hideous warrior; and he Had great ears, a great nose, and apple-eyes, And rough, grey hair. He wore a striped grey bratt Pinned o’er his breast by a huge iron spike, Which reached from shoulder unto shoulder. Next His skin he had a rough and streaky layna. There was on him a big brown hill—his shield. At one side of his back he bore a sword Of seven pieces of well-tempered iron. He carried in his hand a great, grey spear, With thirty sewings through its eye-holes. Truly, Whoe’er he was, some folk amongst the hosts Already at that hill fell down with fear, At seeing that terrific warrior come With his own band about him.” “Who was that, O Fergus?” Al-yill asked. “I know, indeed,” Said Fergus. “He is as an ocean-flood Whelming the solid land—that man who comes There, with his band about him. He is Keltar, The mighty Keltar son of Oo-hider, From his own doon, Le-Glass in the east-north.”

“There came another band unto that hill In Slane of Meath,” Mac Roth said. “It was bold And powerful, and it was rude and dreadful; And at its head I saw a big-mouthed man, The measure of his mouth being like the measure Of mouths of stallions. He was big of belly, Blind of one eye, and with a low, flat head, And had long arms. His hair was frizzed and brown. His bratt was black, with surface napped and teazled, And was secured by a round wheel of bronze. He wore a layna with distinctive markings, And a long sword, and a thick-studded shield.” “Who was that man, O Fergus?” Al-yill asked. “I know,” said Fergus. “He who there approaches Is a red-handed and a raging lion. He is one cruel thirst for blood and combat; For he is Aerrga Ecbael—Aerrga Horse-mouth,— From his own stead, Bree Aerrga, in the north.”

“Another band arrived upon that hill,” Mac Roth continued. “And there could not be A man-at-arms more beautiful than he Who led that band. His figure was erect And tall and evenly proportioned, broad Of shoulder, narrow-hipped, white-skinned. His face Was broad above and narrowed towards the chin; And in the face his clear, blue, brilliant eyes Burned like two candles. His two lips were red And thin. His teeth gleamed like clear pearls. His hair Of a rich yellow-red fell thick and free. This warrior was arrayed in a full bratt Of crimson, fastened by a yō of gold. His layna was of kingly srōl, embroidered With bright, red gold. He bore a pure, white shield, Whereon were tortuous beasts of gold. His sword Was golden-hilted; and his spear was long, Grey-edged, and done with rivets of findrinny.” “Who is that warrior, Fergus?” Al-yill asked. “I know,” said Fergus, “and ye know well, too. That man is a half-battle to each one Who goes there. He himself is a battalion. He is your kin by marriage. He it is Who slept with your own daughter, Findabair; So that the Munster princes rose in wrath, And many men were slain, and she thereafter Died for pure shame and generous feeling towards them. For that is Ro-hee son of Faha-win, From his own doon, from Reedonn in the north.”

“There came another band unto that hill,” Mac Roth continued. “In their style and mode They differed from all other bands which came. For some men wore red bratts and some wore blue. Some bratts were of pure white and some were green, And some were blay or yellow; all alike Were beautiful and streamed upon the wind. ’Midst of that troop I saw a little lad With ruddy, freckled face, and crimson bratt Fixed by a yō of gold. Of kingly srōl His little layna was, and it was done With broidery of gold. His small, white shield Bore figured beasts of gold, and had its rim And central boss of gold. A golden hilt His sword had; and a little, light, sharp spear Held in his hand, rose high above his head.” “Who may those be?” asked Al-yill. Fergus said: “I cannot recognize their style or mode, Nor know I such a royal child in Ulster; But there is one thing that I think. I think Those are the men of kingly Tara, coming Round about Erc, the son of Fedilmid The Freshly-blooming One, great Conor’s daughter. Erc is the son of Carpry Neea Faer, High-king of Tara, brother and ally To Al-yill there; yet think not that that child Comes, as a kinsman comes, to aid or help you. Without his father’s leave I think he comes To aid his mother’s father. And,” said Fergus, “If I am right in my surmise, a herd Trampling green crops that band will be to you. Loudly and wrathfully those mighty bulls Will roar, the while they guard the tender calf Of their own queenly heifer, in the fight Of Gawrig in the morning of to-morrow.” “There came another band unto that hill,” Mac Roth went on. “Controlling it, I saw Three purple-faced and anger-kindled men Of honourable rank. Each had thick hair Of pale blay-yellow; and their ample bratts Were all alike, and were secured by pins Of brightest gold. Bright gold embroidery Adorned their three neat laynas. Their three shields Were all alike. A golden-hilted sword Each wore upon his thigh; in his right hand Each grasped a grey, wide spear.” “Who were those, Fergus?” Asked Al-yill. “Three good chieftains of Moy Cova, Three heroes of the Road of Meed-lougher, Three lords of Cooley, three revered old men Of the east quarter of Slieve Foo-id,” said Fergus. “They are the three famed sons of Feeacna, The three good guardians of the bull, whose names Are Dawra and Ross and Im-ha,” Fergus said.

“There came another band unto that hill In Slane of Meath,” Mac Roth said. “It was last Of all the bands; and it contained not fewer Than thirty hundred. They were bright, clean warriors, And ruddy-cheeked, with long, light-yellowish hair. Their countenances seemed to glow. Their eyes Were bright and kingly. Garments glossed and bright Were held by golden pins. Their blue-white spears Shined like pure glass, flashing in the clear air. Their shields were yellow, threatening dangerous blows. Their swords were golden-hilted. As these came, Clamour of grief broke from each man of them; Sad, moanful mourning had invaded them; Sorrowful there seemed each mean combatant; And each high, kingly chief was sorrowful. Their heads were bowed with sorrow and with pain. Bereaved seemed that bright host illustrious, Orphaned of him who should have governed them.” “Who are those, then?” said Al-yill unto Fergus. “Truly we know, then,” Fergus answered him. “Those are fierce lions, lions of a battle; Those are the cantred out of Moy Mweerhevna. And this it is which makes them bowed of head, And sorrowful and void of joy—their being Without their own young, native king amongst them, Without Cucullin, red of sword, commanding, Battle-victorious and battle-triumphing.” “There is enough of cause for them,” said Maev, “However scant of joy and sorrowful, And grieved at heart and downcast they may be. There is no ill we have not done to them. We were despoiling, burning, reaving them From Sowin unto Spring-tide. We have taken Their wives and tender sons and little ones, Their steeds and flocks of mares, their troops of kine, Their herds of every sort of grazing kine. And we have not alone burned to the grass Their strongly-timbered houses, wide and fair; But their high, fortified green mounds, whereon Those houses were, we have so levelled down, That all their glens and trenches are filled up After our track. And their unrivalled bull, Their wondrous Donn of Cooley, we have taken Away from them, to bring with us to Croohan.” “O Maev, thou hast therein no ground,” said Fergus, “For triumphing or boasting o’er those men. There is no ill that thou hast done to them, The which the leader of that able band Hath not avenged upon thee. For each grave, Each flagstone, and each high, sepulchral mound, Between the ford wherein Faerdeeah fell And the east shore of Erin, is the grave Or flagstone, or high, bare sepulchral mound Of some good hero and good combatant, After his slaying by the noble leader Of that same band we speak of. Well for those For whom these strive in battle! Woe for those Whom they contend against! They will be equal To half a battle for the men of Erin, While they contend for their own lord and king Upon the fields of Gawrig and Ilgawrig, In battle in the morning of to-morrow.” Mac Roth went on: “I heard a grievous cry Somewhere to westward of the battle-hosts, Or else to eastward; it was not amidst them.” “What was that cry, then?” Al-yill asked of Fergus. “Truly, we know that,” Fergus answered him. “That was Cucullin, who, after his striving To rise and come and take his share in battle, Was being forcibly laid supine down Upon his sick man’s sod and sod of healing, Underneath hazel-boughs and hooks and ropes. The men of Ulster will not let him come, Owing to his sore hurts and harms and wounds; Because he is not fit for fight or combat After his fight and combat with Faerdeeah.” That thing was true which Fergus said to them. It was Cucullin, who had striven to rise, Being again with force laid supine down Upon his sick man’s sod and sod of healing, Underneath hazel-boughs and hooks and ropes. Hearing that thus he lay, bound to his bed, Two poison-tongued, searing she-satirists, Fehan and Collac, namely, now went forth From out the encampment of the men of Erin, Till they were falsely crying and bewailing Beside Cucullin, crying unto him Of Ulster routed, Conor slain, and Fergus Slain in return in the great field of battle. This was the night wherein the fierce More-reega Daughter of Ernmas came in the doleful dark, Between their two wide camps, inciting them The one against the other. She was heard To call these words, there, in the dark and gloom: “Ravens shall pick the throats of men to-morrow. Strife is promoted. Blue-mouthed bives shall scream, Hovering o’er breasts of prostrate men of Erin. Welcome, Ultonians! Memorable, feastful, Will be the slaughter of the flesh of men Upon these fields of Gawrig and Ilgawrig In battle in the morning of to-morrow.”