 | The banshee and other poems |  |
THE DEATH-SONG OF TURANN.
1
Low lie your heads this day,My sons! my sons!
The strong in their pride go by me,
Saying: “Where are thy sons?”
2
They spit on my grief, they sullyThe snows of my age upon me,
Sonless I stand in Tara,
A laughter, a lonely shame.
115
3
How shall I walk in strengthIn the gathering of the chiefs?
A shaking leaf is my valour,
Wanting your spears about me.
4
How shall I sit in honourIn the counsel of the kings?
My beard of wisdom the scorner
Shall pluck, with none to defend me.
5
Happy the dead lie down,Not knowing the loss of children:
My life in your grave lies dead,
And I go down to my children.
116
6
Without you, my hoary ageIs a faltering of the feet.
Without you, my knees that tremble
Go stumbling down to the grave.
7
Bad is life to the fatherIn the house without a son,
Fallen is the House of Turann,
And with it I lie low!
| The banshee and other poems | |