Part 18 (2/2)

Cuchulain

Hot with indignation, Take I battle-station, Face yon warrior nation, Round their warlike king: They shall see me meet thee, Count the strifes that greet thee, Watch, as down I beat thee, Drowning, suffering.

Ferdia

Here is one to shame thee; How 'twas I o'ercame thee, They who champion name thee Long the tale shall tell.

Ulster, near thee lying, Soon shall see thee dying; All shall say, with sighing, Theirs the chief who fell.

Cuchulain

Thine shall be the choosing; Say, what warfare using Hosts shall see thee losing At the Ford this fight?

Swords dost choose, hard-clas.h.i.+ng Cars, in conflict cras.h.i.+ng?

Spears, thy life-blood splas.h.i.+ng?

'Tis thy death in sight.

Ferdia

Ere the twilight gleameth, Red thy life-blood streameth: Small thy stature seemeth, Like a cliff thy foe.

Ulster's hosts who prated, And thy pride inflated; Through them feel thy hated Spectre sadly go.

Cuchulain

Down a chasm appalling Thou to death art falling; One thy foe: yet galling Weapons press thee sore.

Proud thou wert but lately, Strife shall change thee greatly, Thee as champion stately Earth shall know no more.

Ferdia

Cease this endless vaunting, Speech for ever flaunting, Thou a chief! a taunting, Giggling child thou art.

None would pay, or fee thee, I as coward see thee; Strength hast none to free thee, Caged bird! quaking heart!

Cuchulain

Ah! in bygone story We, as peers in glory, Sports and combats gory Shared when Scaha taught: Thou, of all who nearest To my soul appearest!

Clansman! kinsman dearest!

Woe thy fate hath brought!

Ferdia

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