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