the death of Ferdia
Up Cuchulain, hound of Ulster The War Queen's Army nears I hear their boots upon the battlefield I see the glimmer of their spears Let me rest beside a corpse And soon a corpse to be If not in his arms let men at arms Be the end of me Oh up Cuchulain, hound of Ulster What good would dying do? The truth is that a second death No way proves you false or true What care I virtues or of vice I solely wish for death For warm eyed black haired Ferdia Shall never draw another breath Up now Cuchulain, hound of Ulster Think on those who on you depend End you here upon the riverside Will surely be their end All things end and soon forgot Regardless of my deeds Let me rest my weighted breast Beside my prince of steeds No, up Cuchulain, hound of Ulster Hold your heart and lift your limb If not self, or friends, or all the world Then for the memory of him