Wily Germoin, amid so many slaughters,
  We took alive as trophy of the field,
Him o’er the broad, bright sea of spangled waters
  We bore to Scatha of the bright broad shield.

She, our famed tutoress, with kind endeavour,
  Bound us from that day forth with heart and hand,
When met fair Elgga’s tribes, that we should never
  In hostile ranks before each other stand.

Oh, day of woe! oh, day without a morrow! 
  Oh, fatal Tuesday morning, when the bud
Of his young life was scattered!  Oh! the sorrow,
  To give the friend I loved a drink of blood!

Ah, if I saw thee among heroes lying
  Dead on some glorious battlefield of Greece,
Soon would I follow thee, and proudly dying,
  Sleep with my friend triumphant and at peace.

We, Scatha’s pupils, ah, how sad the story! 
  Thou to be dead and I to be alive: 
I to be wounded here, all gashed and gory,
  Thou never more thy chariot’s steeds to drive.

We, Scatha’s pupils, ah! how sad the story;
  Sad is the fate to which we both are led: 
I to be wounded here, all gashed and gory,
  And thou, alas! my friend, to lie here dead.

We, Scatha’s pupils, ah, how sad the story! 
  Sad is the deed and sorrowful the wrong: 
Thou to be dead without thy meed of glory,
  And I, oh! shame, to be alive and strong!

Laegh interposed at length, and thus he said: 
“Good, O Cuchullin, let us leave the Ford,
For long have we been here, by far too long.” 
“Let us then leave it now,” Cuchullin said,
“O Laegh, my friend, but know that every fight
In which I hitherto have drawn my sword,
Has been but as a pastime and a sport
Compared with this one with Ferdiah fought.” 
And he was saying, and he spake these words: 

Cuchullin.

Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,
I played but with the spear and sword: 
Alike the teaching we received,
Alike were glad, alike were grieved,
Alike were we by Scatha’s grace
Deemed worthy of the highest place.

Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,
I played but with the spear and sword: 
Alike our habits and our ways,
Alike our prowess and our praise,
Alike the trophies of the brave,
The glittering shields that Scatha gave.

Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,
I played but with the spear and sword: 
How dear to me, ah! who can know? 
This golden pillar here laid low,
This mighty tree so strong and tall,
The chief, the champion of us all!

Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,
I played but with the spear and sword: 
The lion rushing with a roar,
The wave that swallows up the shore,
When storm-winds blow and heaven is dim,
Could only be compared to him.

Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,
I played but with the spear and sword: 
Through me the friend I loved is dead,
A cloud is ever on my head—­
The mountain form, the giant frame,
Is now a shadow and a name.