As furious tempests, that in deep woods roar
Assault the giant trees and lay them low,
As billows toss the seaweed on the shore,
As sweeping sickles do the ripe fields mow—
Cuchullin, rolling fiercely on the foe,
Broke through the linked ranks upon the plain,
To drench the field with blood and round him heap the slain
And when he reach'd a warrior-pair that stood
In feignèd strife upon a knoll of green,
Their weapons clashing but unstained with blood,
A satirist him besought to intervene,
Whereat he slew them as he drave between—
"Thy spear to me," the satirist cried the while,
The hero answering, "Nay," he cried, "I'll thee revile."
'Reviled for churlishness I ne'er have been,"
Cuchullin call'd, up-rising in his pride,
And cast his ashen spear bronze-tipp'd and keen
And slew the satirist and nine beside,
Then his fresh onslaught made the host divide
And flee before him clamouring with fear,
The while the stealthy Lugaid seized Cuchullin's spear
"O sons of Calatin," did Lugaid call,
"What falleth by the weapon I hold here?"
Together they acclaim'd, "A King will fall,
For so foretold," they said, "the aged seer."
Then at the chariot he flung the spear,
And Laegh was stricken unto death and fell
Cuchullin drew the spear and bade a last farewell
"The victor I, and eke the charioteer!"
He cried, and drave the war-steeds fierce and fast.
Another pair he slew, "To me thy spear,"
Again a satirist call'd. The spear was cast,
And through the satirist and nine men pass'd
But Lugaid grasps it, and again doth call,—
"What falleth by this spear?" They shout, "A King will fall"
"Then fall," cried Lugaid, as he flung the spear—
The Grey of Macha sank in death's fierce throes,
Snapping the yoke, the while the Black ran clear:
Cuchullin groan'd, and dash'd upon his foes;
Another pair he slew with rapid blows,
And eke the satirist and nine men near:
Then once more Lugaid sprang to seize the charmèd spear.
"What falleth by this weapon?" he doth call
"A King will fall," they answer him again …
"But twice before ye said, 'A King will fall'" …
They cried, "The King of Steeds hath fled the plain,
And lo, the King of Charioteers is slain!" …
For the last time he drave the spear full well,
And smote the great Cuchullin—and Cuchullin fell
The Black steed snapp'd the yoke, and left alone
The King of Heroes dying on the plain:
"I fain would drink," they heard Cuchullin groan,
"From out yon loch" … He thirsted in fierce pain.
"We give thee leave, but thou must come again,"
His foemen said; then low made answer he,
"If I will not return, I'll bid you come to me"
His wound he bound, and to the loch did hie,
And drank his drink, and wash'd, and made no moan.
Then came the brave Cuchullin forth to die,
Sublimely fearless, strengthless and alone …
He wended to the standing pillar-stone,
Clutching his sword and leaning on his spear,
And to his foemen called, "Come ye, and meet me here."
A vision swept upon his fading brain—
A passing vision glorious and sweet,
That hour of youth return'd to him again
When he took arms with fearless heart a-beat,
As Cathbad, the magician, did repeat,
"Who taketh arms upon this day of grief,
His name shall live forever and his life be brief"