he feasts is they will hail thee with 'welcome.'

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 19: A name for Ireland.]

EOCHAID ON THE DEATH OF KING AED MAC DOMNAILL UA NEILL[20]

Aed of Ailech, beloved he was to me,
Woe, O God, that he should have died!
Seven years with Aed of Ath I--
One month with Mael na mBo[21] would be longer!

Seven years I had with the King of Ross,
Delightful was my time with the lord of Slemish,
Though I were but one month with the king in the south,
I know that it would weary me.

Many honours the king gave to me,
To pleasure me he brought down stags:
A herd of horses he gave to me in my day,
The great son of the woman from Magh Ai.

Alas, O Comgall, master of harmonies,
That the son of Domnaill should be food for worms!
Alas that his face should be on the ground!
Alas for noble Ailech without Aed!

From the day that great Aed was slain
Few men on earth but are in want:
Since _he_ has died that was another Lugh,[22]
It were right to shed tears of blood.

Tara is deprived of her benefactor,
A blight is upon his kindred,
Torture is put upon the rays of the sun,
Glorious Erin is without Aed.

Fair weather shines not on the mountain-side,
Fine-clustering fruit is not enjoyed,
The gloom of every night is dark
Since earth was put over Aed.

Ye folk of great Armagh,
With whom the son of the chief lies on his back,
Cause of reproach will come of it
That your grave is open before Aed.

In the battle of Craeb Tholcha in the north
I left my fair companions behind!
Alas for the fruit of the heavy bloodshed
Which severed Eochaid and Aed!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 20: Who had fallen in the battle of Craeb Tholcha, A.D. 1004.]

[Footnote 21: King of South Leinster.]

[Footnote 22: A famous mythical hero.]

ERARD MAC COISSE ON THE DEATH OF KING MALACHY II.[23]

Alas for thy state, O Dun na Sciath![24]
Alas that thy lord is not alive!
The high-king of Meath of the polished walls,
His death has thrown us off our course.

Thou without games, without drinking of ale,
Thou shining abode of the twisted horns!
After Malachy of noble shape
Alas for thy state, O Dun na Sciath!

I upon the green of thy smooth knolls
Like Ronan's son after the Fiana,
Or like a hind after her fawn,
Alas for thy state, O Dun na Sciath!

I got three hundred speck