Who loves you, no white arms to wrap you round,
Or do you long for the dim sleepy ground,
That you come here to meet this ancient sword?’
‘The dooms of men are in God’s hidden hoard.’
‘Your head a while seemed like a woman’s head
That I loved once.’
Again the fighting sped,
But now the war rage in Cuchulain woke,
And through the other’s shield his long blade broke,
And pierced him.