To-night laid not his side upon the ground
The deer of Slievecarn of the hundred fights;
He, with the stag of Echtge's frozen heights,
Caught the wolves' snarl, and quivered at the sound.
I, Caoilte, wakeful lie, and Dermot Donn,
We, with keen Oscar of the footsteps fleet,
Watch the slow hours of moving night retreat,
Whilst the dread pack of hungry wolves comes on.
Well rests the ruddy deer in dawn's dim light,
Deep breathing near the covering earthen mound,
Hidden from sight, as 'twere beneath the ground,
All in the latter end of chilly night.
I sit to-night amongst the ancient race,
And of the younger men but few I know,
Though, in the ice-bound mornings long ago,
From my firm grasp the javelin flew apace.
I thank Heaven's King, I thank sweet Mary's Son,
My hand it was that silenced countless men;
They lie stretched out beneath us in the glen,
Colder than we, death-cold, lies many and many an one.
[THE SLEEP-SONG OF GRAINNE
OVER DERMUID]
When fleeing from Fionn
From the "Poem-book of Fionn."
Sleep a little, a little little, thou needest feel no fear or dread,
Youth to whom my love is given, I am watching near thy head.