[W.2329.] “Bring this word to Conchobar dear, I am weak, with wounded sides.  Greatly has he changed in mien, Dechtire’s fond, rich-trooped son!

    “I alone these cattle guard,
    Leave them not, yet hold them not. 
    Ill my plight, no hope for me,
    Thus alone on many fords!

    “Showers of blood rain on my arms,
    Full of hateful wounds am I.
    No friend comes to help me here,
    Save my charioteer alone!

    “Few make music here for me,
    Joy I’ve none in single horn. 
    When the mingled trumpets sound,[a]
    This is sweetest from the drone!

    “This old saying, ages old:—­
    ‘Single log gives forth no flame;’
    Let there be a two or three,
    Up the firebrands all will blaze!

    “One sole log burns not so well
    As when one burns by its side. 
    Guile can be employed on one;
    Single mill-stone doth not grind!

    “Hast not heard at every time,
    ’One is duped’?—­’tis true of me. 
    That is why I cannot last
    These long battles of the hosts!

    “However small a host may be,
    It receives some thought and pains;
    Take but this:  its daily meat
    On one fork is never cooked!

    “Thus alone I’ve faced the host,
    By the ford in broad Cantire;
    Many came, both Loch and Badb,
    As foretold in ’Regomain!’[b]

    “Loch has mangled my two thighs;
    Me the grey-red wolf hath bit;
    Loch my sides[c] has wounded sore,
    And the eel has dragged me down!

“With my spear I kept her off; I put out the she-wolf’s eye; [W.2371.] And I broke her lower leg, At the outset of the strife!

    “Then when Laeg sent Aife’s spear,[a]
    Down the stream—­like swarm of bees—­
    That sharp deadly spear I hurled,
    Loch, [1]Mobebuis’[1] son, fell there!

    “Will not Ulster battle give
    To Ailill and Eocho’s lass,[b]
    While I linger here in pain,
    Full of wounds and bathed in blood?

[LL.fo.75b.] “Tell the splendid Ulster chiefs They shall come to guard their drove.  Maga’s sons[c] have seized their kine And have portioned them all out!

    “Fight on fight—­though much I vowed,
    I have kept my word in all. 
    For pure honour’s sake I fight;
    ’Tis too much to fight alone!

    “Vultures joyful at the breach
    In Ailill’s and in Medb’s camp. 
    Mournful cries of woe are heard;
    On Murthemne’s plain is grief!

    “Conchobar comes not out with help;
    In the fight, no troops of his. 
    Should one leave him thus alone,
    Hard ’twould be his rage to tell!

[1]"Men have almost worn me out In these single-handed fights; Warrior’s deeds I cannot do, Now that I must fight alone!"[1]

    [a] Literally ‘repentance.’