He paused awhile, still gazing on the dead,
Then to his charioteer he spoke:  “Friend Laegh,
Strip now Ferdiah, take his armour off,
That I may see the golden brooch of Mave,
For which he undertook the fatal fight.” 
Laegh took the armour then from off his breast,
And then Cuchullin saw the golden pin
That cost so dear, and then these words he spake: 

Cuchullin.

Alas!  O brooch of gold! 
  O chief, whose fame each poet knows,
  O hero of stout slaughtering blows,
Thy arm was brave and bold.

Thy yellow flowing hair,
  Thy purple girdle’s silken fold
  Still even in death around thee rolled,—­
Thy twisted jewel rare.

Thy noble beaming eyes,
  Now closed in death, make mine grow dim,
  Thy dazzling shield with golden rim,
Thy chess a king might prize.

Oh! piteous to behold,
  My fellow-pupil falls by me: 
  It was an end that should not be,
Alas!  O brooch of gold!

After another pause Cuchullin spoke:—­
“O Laegh, my friend, open Ferdiah now,
And from his body the Gaebulg take out,
For I without my weapon cannot be.”

Laegh then approached, and with a strong, sharp knife
Opened Ferdiah’s body, and drew out
The dread Gaebulg.  And when Cuchullin saw
His bloody weapon lying red beside
Ferdiah on the ground, again he thought
Of all their past career, and thus he said: 

Cuchullin.

Sad is my fate that I should see thee lying,
  Sad is the fate, Ferdiah, I deplore,—­
I with my weapon which thy blood is dyeing,
  Thou on the ground a mass of streaming gore.

When we were young, where Scatha’s eye hath seen us
  Fond fellow-pupils in her schools of Skye,
Never was heard the angry word between us,
  Never was seen the angry spear to fly.

Scatha, with words of eloquent persuading,
  Roused us in many a glorious feat to join;
“Go,” she exclaimed, “each other bravely aiding,
  Go forth to battle with the dread Germoin.”

I to Ferdiah said:  “Oh, come, my brother,”
  I to the ever-generous Luaigh said,
I to fair Baetan’s son, and many another: 
  “Come, let us go and fight this foe so dread.”

Crossing the sea in ships of peaceful traders,
  All of us came to lone Lind Formairt’s lake,
With us we brought four hundred brave invaders
  Out of the islands of the Athisech.

I and Ferdiah were the first to enter,
  Where he himself, the dread Germoin, held rule,
Rind, Nial’s son, I clove from head to centre,
  Ruad I killed, the son of Finniule.

First on the shore, as swift our fleet ships flew there,
  Blath, son of Calba of red swords, was slain;
Struck by Ferdiah, Luaigh also slew there
  Fierce rude Mugarne of the Torrian main.

Bravely we battled against that court enchanted,
  Full four times fifty heroes fell by me: 
He, by their savage onslaught nothing daunted,
  Slew ox-like monsters clambering from the sea.