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on Oscur; my son was the youth of her love. She forgot the blood of her father; and loved the hand that slew him.
Son of Oscian, said Dermid, I love; O Oscur, I love this maid. But her soul cleaveth unto thee; and nothing can heal Dermid. Here, pierce this bosom, Oscur; relieve me, my friend, with thy sword.
My sword, son of Morny, shall never be stained with the blood of Dermid.
Who then is worthy to slay me, O Oscur son of Oscian? Let not my life pass away unknown. Let none but Oscur slay me. Send me with honour to the grave, and let my death be renowned.
Dermid,
