Now, after all this, king Eochaid went in person to make a royal progress throughout the realm of Ireland, and he left Etain behind him in his fortress; and “Lady,” said he, “deal thou gently with Ailill so long as he is yet alive; and, should he die,” said he, “do thou see that his burial mound be heaped for him; and that a standing-stone be set up in memory of him; and let his name be written upon it in letters of Ogham.”  Then the king went away for the space of a year, to make his royal progress throughout the realm of Ireland, and Ailill was left behind, in the stronghold of Fremain of Tethba; there to pass away and to die.

Now upon a certain day that followed, the lady Etain came to the house where Ailill lay in his sickness, and thus she spoke to him:  “What is it,” she said, “that ails thee? thy sickness is great, and if we but knew anything that would content thee, thou shouldest have it.”  It was thus that at that time she spoke, and she sang a verse of a song, and Ailill in song made answer to her: 

Etain

Young man, of the strong step and splendid,
What hath bound thee? what ill dost thou bear? 
Thou hast long been on sick-bed extended,
Though around thee the sunshine was fair.

Ailill

There is reason indeed for my sighing,
I joy naught at my harp’s pleasant sound;
Milk untasted beside me is lying;
And by this in disease am I bound.

Etain

Tell me all, thou poor man, of thine ailing;
For a maiden am I that is wise;
Is there naught, that to heal thee availing,
Thou couldst win by mine aid, and arise

Ailill

If I told thee, thou beautiful maiden,
My words, as I formed them, would choke,
For with fire can eyes’ curtains be laden: 
Woman-secrets are evil, if woke.

Etain

It is ill woman-secrets to waken;
Yet with Love, its remembrance is long;
And its part by itself may be taken,
Nor a thought shall remain of the wrong.

Ailill

I adore thee, white lady, as grateful;
Yet thy bounty deserve I but ill: 
To my soul is my longing but hateful,
For my body doth strive with me still.

Eocho Fedlech,[FN#9] his bride to him taking,
Made thee queen; and from thence is my woe: 
For my head and my body are aching,
And all Ireland my weakness must know.

Etain

If, among the white women who near me abide,
There is one who is vexing, whose love thou dost hide;
To thy side will I bring her, if thus I may please;
And in love thou shalt win her, thy sickness to ease.