With him where his bloody bed is thou wilt find
eight men:
Though we thought them feeble, the leavings of
the weapon of Mughirne's son.
Not feebly fights Falvey the Red; the play of his
spear-strings withers the host;
Ferchorb of radiant body leapt upon the field and
dealt seven murderous blows.
Front to front twelve warriors stood against me
in mutual fight:
Not one of them all remains that I did not leave
in slaughter.
Then we two exchanged spears, I and Alill,
Eoghan's son:
We both perished—O the fierceness of those stout
thrusts!
We fell by each other though it was senseless: it
was the encounter of two heroes.
Do not await the terror of night on the battle-field
among the slain warriors:
One should not hold converse with ghosts! betake
thee home, carry my spoils with thee!
Every one will tell thee that mine was not the
raiment of a churl:
A crimson cloak and a white tunic, a belt of silver,
no paltry work!
My five-edged spear, a murderous lance, whose
slaughters have been many;
A shield with five circles and a boss of bronze, by
which they used to swear binding oaths.
11
