Three Irish Bardic Tales :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now Maini drew the sword; and with a second shriek
It flashed out of the sheath. ‘Well mayst thou shriek, old friend,’
Said Naisi. ‘By my troth, when we spared Conchobar,
That was our fault! And now, farewell, land of my heart,
Farewell Ireland! There swims no better land this day
On the waters of the world, with truer comrades in it,
Or wives more loving, fair, and faithful, as I know.
There is no better land, for valour and kindly mirth;
No better land for harps, music, and sweet-voiced songs
That gush like silver streams of living water through it;
No better land for love and beauty, and the taste
Of the sweet air of the morn, with horses and with hounds.
O, for the balmy woods of Ireland, for the trees
Of her green woods, the stags of her wild mountain glens!
The fern, the furze, the heath; the cunning creatures in them,
The shy otter, the stoat, the badger, and the hare!
O, for the swans of her loughs, the salmon of her streams!
O, for the blackbird's note, and the thrush's in the morn,
The cuckoo's coo of spring, the robin's autumn dirge!
All these, I loved them well, and Ireland has my love;
Would that we died for her! Maini, thy hand be true;
And when we three are dead, I charge thee, give my sword
To the hand of Manannàn. Now, courage, man, and strike!’