Literal Translation of the Poems
All the troops from fair Cruachan
they escape not back from you.
Then so much the greater is your glory;
guard yourself with vigilance and find it.
III
Dark cloud of poison
green. . . .
red two-edged blade,
death compelling!
For sides shall be cut to pieces,
hands shall be dislocated,
bodies shall be lacerated,
necks shall be made bare
in the house of Gerg
from the time of the death-dealing ninth hour
even to the middle of the day!
Grave-beds on the ground!
A young man it is who distributes the blackness of
death.
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