The flagstone where he bent the knee,
Beside the wattled oratory,
'Tis there, at eve, each lonely day,
I go to pray.
Never for him dear hearth or wife,
Homestead, or innocent baby life;
No mate at his right hand
Will ever stand.
Cummine accuses her of wrong and she turns on him:
Cleric, thy thought is ill;
Not with my will you link my name with his,
From Loch Seng's borderland he comes, I wis,
I from Iar-Conchin's Cill.
We met, you say;
But sure, no honeyed pastures of the flock
Where lover's arms in lover's arms enlock,
Was ours that May.
If Curithir is gone to-day
To teach the little scholars of the school,
Small help he'll get who does not know his rule;
Curithir's thoughts are very far away.
At length the news is brought to her that Curithir is gone for ever, and she breaks out into a passionate lament.
The Cry of Liadan after Curithir
'Tis done!
Joyless the victory I have won,
The tender heart of him I loved I wrung!
He called me near
A little space to please him, but the fear
Of God in heaven withheld me, and I would not hear.