Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis
Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis
62 CUCHULLIN. I, who here with warriors fought, With the lordly chiefs of hosts, With a hundred men at once, Little heed thy empty boasts. Thee beneath the wave to place, Thee to strike and thee to slay In the first path of our fight Am I here to-day. FERDIAH. Thy reproach in me behold, For 'tis I that deed will do, 'Tis of me that Fame shall tell He the Ultonian's champion slew. Yes, in spite of all their hosts, Yes, in spite of all their prayers: So it shall long be told That the loss was theirs. CUCHULLIN. How, then, shall we first engage-- Is it with the hard-edged sword? In what order shall we go To the battle of the Ford? Shall we in our chariots ride? Shall we wield the bloody spear? How am I to hew thee down With thy proud hosts here? FERDIAH. Ere the setting of the sun, Ere shall come the darksome night, If again thou must be told, With a mountain thou shalt fight: Thee the Ultonians will extol,
63 Thence impetuous wilt thou grow, Oh! their grief, when through their ranks Will thy spectre go! CUCHULLIN. Thou hast fallen in danger's gap, Yes, thy end of life is nigh; Sharp spears shall be plied on thee Fairly 'neath the open sky: Pompous thou wilt be and vain Till the time for talk is o'er, From this day a battle-chief Thou shalt be no more. FERDIAH. Cease thy boastings, for the world Sure no braggart hath like thee: Thou art not the chosen chief-- Thou hast not the champion's fee:-- Without action, without force, Thou art but a giggling page; Yes, thou trembler, with thy heart Like a bird's in cage. CUCHULLIN. When we were with Scatha once, It but seemed our valour's due That we should together fight, Both as one our sports pursue. Thou wert then my dearest friend, Comrade, kinsman, thou wert all,-- Ah, how sad, if by my hand Thou at last should fall. FERDIAH. Much of honour shalt thou lose, We may then mere words forego:--
- Page 11 and 12: 11 BALLADS AND LYRICS. WAITING FOR
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- Page 39 and 40: 39 Oh! none was to rival the prince
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- Page 55 and 56: 55 CUCHULLIN. If Conor's royal stre
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62<br />
CUCHULLIN.<br />
I, who here with warriors fought,<br />
With the lordly chiefs of hosts,<br />
With a hundred men at once,<br />
Little heed thy empty boasts.<br />
Thee beneath the wave to place,<br />
Thee to strike and thee to slay<br />
In the first path of our fight<br />
Am I here to-day.<br />
FERDIAH.<br />
Thy reproach in me behold,<br />
For 'tis I that deed will do,<br />
'Tis of me that Fame shall tell<br />
He the Ultonian's champion slew.<br />
Yes, in spite of all their hosts,<br />
Yes, in spite of all their prayers:<br />
So it shall long be told<br />
That the loss was theirs.<br />
CUCHULLIN.<br />
How, then, shall we first engage--<br />
Is it with the hard-edged sword?<br />
In what order shall we go<br />
To the battle of the Ford?<br />
Shall we in our chariots ride?<br />
Shall we wield the bloody spear?<br />
How am I to hew thee down<br />
With thy proud hosts here?<br />
FERDIAH.<br />
Ere the setting of the sun,<br />
Ere shall come the darksome night,<br />
If again thou must be told,<br />
With a mountain thou shalt fight:<br />
Thee the Ultonians will extol,
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