Cuchullin.

O Ferdiah, if it be thou,
Certain am I that on thy brow
The blush should burn and the shame should rise,
Degraded man whom the gods despise,
Here at a woman’s bidding to wend
To fight thy fellow-pupil and friend.

Ferdiah.

O Cuchullin, O valiant man,
Inflicter of wounds since the war began,
O true champion, a man must come
To the fated spot of his final home,—­
To the sod predestined by fate’s decree
His resting-place and his grave to be.

Cuchullin.

Finavair, the daughter of Mave,
Although thou art her willing slave,
Not for thy long-felt love has been
Promised to thee by the wily queen,—­
No, it was but to test thy might
That thou wert lured into this fatal fight.

Ferdiah.

My might was tested long ago
In many a battle, as thou dost know,
Long, O Hound of the gentle rule,
Since we fought together in Scatha’s school: 
Never a braver man have I seen,
Never, I feel, hath a braver been.

Cuchullin.

Thou art the cause of what has been done,
O son of Daman, Dare’s son,
Of all that has happened thou art the cause,
Whom hither a woman’s counsel draws—­
Whom hither a wily woman doth send
To measure swords with thy earliest friend.

Ferdiah.

If I forsook the field, O Hound,
If I had turned from the battleground—­
This battleground without fight with thee,
Hard, oh, hard had it gone with me;
Bad should my name and fame have been
With King Ailill and with Mave the queen.

Cuchullin.

Though Mave of Croghan had given me food,
Even from her lips, though all of good
That the heart can wish or wealth can give
Were offered to me, there does not live
A king or queen on the earth for whom
I would do thee ill or provoke thy doom.

Ferdiah.

O Cuchullin, thou victor in fight,
Of battle triumphs the foremost knight;
To what result the fight may lead,
’Twas Mave alone that prompted the deed;
Not thine the fault, not thine the blame,
Take thou the victory and the fame.

Cuchullin.

My faithful heart is a clot of blood,
A feud thus forced cannot end in good;
Oh, woe to him who is here to be slain! 
Oh, grief to him who his life will gain! 
For feats of valour no strength have I
To fight the fight where my friend must die.

“A truce to these invectives,” then broke in
Ferdiah; “we far other work this day
Have yet to do than rail with woman’s words. 
Say, what shall be our arms in this day’s fight?”
“Till night,” Cuchullin said, “the choice is thine,
For yester morn the choice was given to me.” 
“Let us,” Ferdiah answered, “then resort
Unto our heavy, sharp, hard-smiting swords,
For we are nearer to the end to-day