My riddled body must now part from thee awhile, my soul to be tortured by the black demon.
Save for the worship of Heaven's King, love of this world is folly.
I hear the dusky ousel that sends a joyous greeting to all the faithful:
My speech, my shape are spectral—hush, woman, do not speak to me!
FOOTNOTES:
[6] A kenning for a band of warriors. 'The flowers of the forest have all wede away.'
[7] A famous mythical hero.
[8] A slave-woman (rated at three cows) was the standard of value among the ancient Irish.
[9] A battle-goddess.