And when at length beneath thy sword
  the Hound of Ulster shall lie low,
When thou hast ope’d the long-locked Ford,
  and let the unguarded water flow,
Then shall I give my daughter’s hand,
  then my own child shall be thy bride—­
She, the fair daughter of the land
  where western Elgga’s[46] waters glide.

And thus did Mave Ferdiah bind to fight
Six chosen champions on the morrow morn,
Or combat with Cuchullin all alone,
Whichever might to him the easier seem. 
And he, by the gods’ names and by her sons,
Bound her the promise she had made to keep,
The rich reward to pay to him in full,
If by his hand Cuchullin should be slain. 
For Fergus, young Cuchullin’s early friend,
The steeds that night were harnessed, and he flew
Swift in his chariot to the hero’s tent. 
“Glad am I at thy coming, O my friend!”
Cuchullin said:  “My pupil, I accept
With joy thy welcome,” Fergus quick replied: 
“But what I come for is to give thee news
Of him who here will fight thee in the morn.” 
“I listen,” said Cuchullin, “do thou speak.” 
“Thine own companion is it, thine own peer,
Thy rival in all daring feats of arms,
Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare’s son,
Of Domnand lord and all its warrior men.” 
“Be sure of this,” Cuchullin made reply,
“That never wish of mine it could have been
A friend should thus come forth with me to fight.” 
“It therefore doth behove thee now, my son,”
Fergus replied, “to be upon thy guard,
Prepared at every point; for not like those
Who hitherto have come to fight with thee
Upon the ‘Tain Bo Cuailgne,’ is the chief,
Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare’s son.” 
“Here I have been,” Cuchullin proudly said,
“From Samhain up to Imbule—­from the first
Of winter days even to the first of spring—­
Holding the four great provinces in check
That make up Erin, not one foot have I
Yielded to any man in all that time,
Nor even to him shall I a foot give way.” 
And thus the parley went:  first Fergus spoke,
Cuchullin then to him in turn replied: 

Fergus.

Time is it, O Cuchullin, to arise,
  Time for the fearful combat to prepare;
For hither with the anger in his eyes,
  To fight thee comes Ferdiah called the Fair.

Cuchullin.

Here I have been, nor has the task been light,
  Holding all Erin’s warriors at bay: 
No foot of ground have I in recreant flight
  Yielded to any man or shunned the fray.

Fergus.

When roused to rage, resistless in his might,
  Fearless the man is, for his sword ne’er fails: 
A skin-protecting coat of armour bright
  He wears, ’gainst which no valour e’er prevails.

Cuchullin.

Oh! brave in arms, my Fergus, say not so,
  Urge not thy story further on the night:—­
On any friend, or facing any foe
  I never was behind him in the fight.