Fierce is our hunger, fierce are the five battalions
Sent here to conquer thee;
But fiercer yet the drought that steals my beauty
Midst this surrounding sea.
Though all my dear loved brothers by one caitiff
Lay slaughtered in my sight,
That man I'd call my friend, yea, I would love him,
Could my thirst ease to-night.
Eat, Son of Morna, batten on these dead bodies,
This is my last behest;
Feast well, gaunt Goll, then quench thy awful craving
Here at my breast.
Nought is there more to fear, nought to be hoped for,
Of life and all bereft
High on this crag, abandoned and forsaken,
Nor hope nor shame is left.
(Goll speaks)
King Conall's daughter, cease this mad entreaty,
Cease thou, I pray;
Never have I a woman's counsel asked for,
Far less to-day.
Oh! pitiful how this thing hath befallen,
Little red mouth!
Lips that of old made speech and happy music,
Now dry and harsh with drouth.
Ever I feared this end; my haunting terror
By wave and land
Was to be caught by Fionn and his battalions
On some stark, foodless strand.
Depart not yet; upon this barren islet,
Beneath this brazen sky,
Sweet lips and gentle heart, we sit together
Until we die.