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.
Ah lady! said Ailill, "easily could the cure of my sickness be wrought by the aid of thee, and great gain should there come from the deed, but thus it is with me until that be accomplished:
Long ago did my passion begin,
A full year it exceeds in its length;
And it holds me, more near than my skin,
And it rules over wrath in its strength.
And the earth into four it can shake,
Can reach up to the heights of the sky
And a neck with its might it can break,
Nor from fight with a spectre would fly.
In vain race up to heaven 'tis urged;
It is chilled, as with water, and drowned:
'Tis a weapon, in ocean submerged;
'Tis desire for an echo, a sound.
'Tis thus my love, my passion seem; 'tis thus I strive in vain
To win the heart of her whose love I long so much to gain.
[FN#9] Pronounced Yeo-ho Fayllya, see note, p. 166.