Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry/A Dirge for King Niall of the Nine Hostages
Tuirn son of Torna
When we used to go to the gathering with Echu's[1]
son,
Yellow as a bright primrose was the hair upon the
head of Cairenn's[2] son.
Torna
Well hast thou spoken, dear son. A bondmaid
should be given thee
For the sake of the hair which thou hast likened
to the colour of the crown of the primrose.
Eyelashes black, delicate, equal in beauty, and
dark eyebrows—
The crown of the woad, a bright hyacinth, that
was the colour of his pupils.
Tuirn son of Torna
The colour of his cheeks at all seasons, even and
symmetrical:
The fox-glove, the blood of a calf—a feast without
a flaw! the crown of the forest in May.
Torna
His white teeth, his red lips that never reproved in
anger—
His shape like a fiery blaze overtopping the
warriors of Erin.
Like the moon, like the sun, like a fiery beacon was
the splendour of Niall:
Like a dragon-ship from the wave without a flaw was
Niall, Echu's son.
Tuirn son of Torna
This is a yearnful music, the wail of every mouth in
Kerry—
It increases my grief in my house for the death of
Muredach's[3] grandson.
Saxons will ravage here in the east, noble men of
Erin and Alba,
After the death of Niall, Echu's noble son—it is a
bitter cause of reproach.
Torna
Saxons with overwhelming cries of war, hosts of
Lombards from the continent,
From the hour in which the king fell Gael and Pict
are in a sore straight.
Tuirn son of Torna
Upon Tara's rampart his fair hair shone against
his ruddy face:
Like unto the colour of his hair is red gold or the
yellow iris.
Torna
'Twas great delight, 'twas great peace to be in the
company of my dear foster-son,[4]
When with Echu's son—it was no small thing—
we used to go to the gathering.
Tuirn son of Torna
Darling hero of the white shoulder! whose tribes
are vast, a beloved host:
Every man was under protection when we used to
go to forgather with him.