# The Courtship of Ferb/Literal Translation

LITERAL TRANSLATION OF THE POEMS
IN THE COURTSHIP OF FERB
I
A din raised by the wind, dreadful the alarm! . . .
Certain is the warning, the man shall triumph! A spear through Gerg !
The cast of the spear of the charioteer through the loins
of the king, a deed with poison.
Blood shall drip from the shoulders of the men.
Spear against spear! The shield shall roar from heavy blows dealt by white
hands. Corpses shall be in the bed of the cairn. Men shall die! Death of the son of the king from the lance of the king! sharp deeds shall be (done). High memorial over the stubborn bodies, melancholy
the tale! Badb shall destroy them, wild strength shall be (shown),
it is a breach in the power of Maev,
Murders in abundance, rout of the army! Sorrowful is the din of the wind!
II
Conor.
Find out by your art, O good Cathba! what disquietude is in my mind,
what great distraction is before me
O Cathba, O Druid of Emain!
Cathba.
O Conor of the heroes!
O dignified king of Ulster!
Many heroes shall fall therefrom
that will be the omen shown in your vision.
Conor.
Name all the evil that shall come therefrom! Produce the truth of prophecy!
Speak not a lie from fear of danger
for no Druid is your equal.
Cathba.
Mani shall fall who is elevated above every disgrace
the son of Maev of Cruachan-Mag.
And on account of the deed of the complaint shall
fall
three times fifty of his companions.
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.
IV
"Woe," said the Druid, brod in airigid.
Not long is the time ere it is in the hands of strangers,
for troops shall be grievously wounded,
warriors shall be destroyed,
houses shall be demolished,
Emain shall find a cry,
single combats shall be appointed,
day and night,
between the troop of Gerg and that of Conor
in this house to-night.
Not with good fortune did the mother bear a son
who is in this house to-night.
V
Gerg is this who lies here.
Through the fault of his daughter it is,
through her fault is he here,
the magnificent one, struck down in the battle.
Great was the war that Gerg undertook,
a warrior (active) as a youth, white, red with weapons,
a man noble, magnificent, manly,
expert, handsome, truly wise.
Who is the hero that was better than Gerg? What heather did not boil with wrath? Where is the host that would not lament your death? that would not break out into lamentation
for you without ceasing?
Sorrow for me to see you on your bed of death,
O beautiful, fair-haired Gerg! O friend of hosts at all times,
sad it is for me that you are dead.
Before us in Glenn Geirg,
by Loch Ane and by Irard,
and by those springs in the south lands,
many were the women whose love you found.
You were a friend to every host; each was obedient to your will; dear to each was your friendly word; it is certain that you were a good counsellor.
Great were your legal sentences,
stately your assemblies.
You were a king who showed kindness to your lords,
you were bloody in real war.
Your house was great and well known, though therein befell your wound; there has he killed you in the place of the king; although it has been done, yet it was blasphemous.
Brod has slain you and it became him not so that through you he thrust through Airidech, you yourself and your servant thus at one time are fallen.
Great was the deed of the servant though an impious one— what Brod has done was a mischief— to slay a king of kings before his time. He has slain us and him.
VI
The Bade.
O Maev, why lie you in sleep? Do you know how it is with you? If you be skilled in prophecy
it should be time for you to arise.
Maev.
O white lady, fair with brilliancy, what is this dreadful tale that you tell me? Who are the foes that have come hither? What is the condition of the men? what their names?
The Bade.
Conor, the head of heroes, the much-conquering, high king of Ulster, holds not back his ardour and fury that he may destroy Glenn Geirg to-night.
Maev.
Where is the place where Gerg and Mani are?
Are they not in the same place?
If that be so, not easy is that destruction
for the troops of the house of Conor!
The Bade.
Though high is the mind of Mani, on account of the beauty of his handsome form, he has not the might on his head for the raid to-night to the glen.
Maev.
If Mani More is slain
it will lead to the perishing of troops,
to the defeat of hosts.
Heroes shall rise in bravery
in Cruachan as well as in Emain.
The Bade.
Raise thyself and avenge thy son,
assemble the province of Connaught.
Thou shalt cruelly cut asunder troops
when thou awakest, O Maev !
VII
O boy, your couch is red
Evil the sign with which you came from your house.
A token will it be of tears for your kindred.
Many are they to whom you brought evil
in the night, there you were on your couch.
O son of Maev (lady ruler) of her tribe! O lofty twig of high honour!
Son of Alill, who is not weak,
Not of you the deeds that you have boasted for yourself!
Sad it is for my heart and my body
that you there for ever lie.
O boy, the most dexterous that I have seen! Thou wert a rod of gold on the cushion! When also thy meeting with any one took place it was yet this—thy last meeting.
Your hand was rough in war,
you were (iarsla?) of the Fomorians.
Great was the thundering of your blows on the head,
Many were the men upon whom you fell.
Your colour was beautiful, lovely,
You were mindful, fulfilling your duty.
You were light over every valley.
Many were the men upon whom you fell.
Fitting for me was sorrow for you
on account of our meeting, though it came not to that.
Not less on that account my love, without lamentation
even if from you my ill luck springs.
It hurts me that you lie here
O my lad! O son of Maev! and it hurts my own heart
the same fate that awaits you.
It was seldom for you to be without your weapons
until it had befallen you to be stiff in death.
The bright shining spear has wounded you grievously,
and another has transfixed you.
And the cruel sword has cut you to pieces,
and a rain of blood has fallen down your cheeks.
And they took all about you,
all the warriors that were of one troop.
Ah! what were they for me
who have not seen my chief of sorrows? My loved one, my chosen out of the crowd,
and my man worth good treasure.
He is my man of worth for all my days,
Mani More, the son of Alill.
I will die therefore, to be in want of him,
that he will not come to be perceived by my senses.
His purple robe of kingly state
much its (sight) puts me in grief,
No one took it away from him
after that he had taken weapons to brandish them.
He himself on the floor of the house,
and his hand since it has been cut off,
and his spear, into a hero he thrust it,
and his head in the hand of Conor.
And his sword, heavy, hard-striking, stout,
took Conor from him in the distance;
and his shield there where it fell from him
for the defence of his people.
Three times fifty warriors round him—
'Tis sad that they all went for nothing.
Great their sighs when he took them;
while they defended him they are fallen.
He himself was a hero—it is no lie—
he distributed much treasure;
Not a little thing it is that he has fallen for
while he defended his people.
He lies there in grisly manner,
the young man of Connaught with the flower of his
army.
Woe for his people—bright gleaming honour—
and woe for his fair companion!
I can do nothing for you,
for it is an evil deed that has been done to me.
My heart is broken therefor
while I look upon you, O boy!
VIII
Ferb.
Fiannamail comes here to us,
he was sought for by us:
how good also his demeanour in the house.
He is for ever separated from his kindred.
Fian.
O maiden, the message is painful
that you send sharply provoking me,
"That I have lost my kindred." Much was the valour
it it is here that they are fallen.
Ferb.
These are your kindred—
yet without that you can discover them.
They have slain, they have been slain far and wide; it was a war of blood-red foes.
Fian.
And Mani, is he in life?
my comrade, my companion,
my king, my chief in the house,
my fair, well-loved friend.
Ferb.
Bitter to me is what you say,
O champion Fiannamail!
You are in error without a doubt,
here you shall find his last bed.
Fian.
Make it known to me—wrath has mastered me— if you know it, O fair Ferb! tell me the place where is
Mani More, the son of Alill.
Ferb.
Ochone! Ochone! Do you know it not, Fiannamail? Mani is fallen, and with him all his forces.
Fian.
Who has caused the cruel war? Who has glittered (in arms) at the overthrow? and who has slain Mani? and are they in like place?
Ferb.
The Ulster men came from the North
With their might of red-sworded war;
so that they took the house against us,
with three times fifty bold warriors.
Fian.
The tale shall go against the men of Ulster,
they are guilty without being hurt.
They shall be slain west and east,
if the men of Connaught yet remain in life.
Ferb.
I give you my assurance,
O Fiannamail, since you are very skilful,
that of the Ulster men—without concealment—
only a single pair came back alive.
Fian.
Who are the two who came back?
What is the condition of the men? what their names?
and whither are they gone from hence
who have done a great thing for our hurt?
Ferb.
Conor and Brod, without deceit,
are they who have come back from the battle;
two spears through Conor himself,
and three of them through Brod, not far from that.
Fian.
Who has wounded Conor the crooked?
Who has put him into an evil state?
Not lucky his going without prohibition,
if he has a desire for healing!
Ferb.
Mani it was who wounded Conor—
two spears! it was not an appointment
He killed Mani thereafter.
That is the truth about him, Fiannamail.
IX
Sad is this, you young men of Connaught.
There is no down to your cushions.
Your springing is a springing without (footstep?).
You have found yourselves struck by a blow over the eyes.
What army was fairer than you were,
and better for noble strife?
Your form was a glorious form;
your life thread is a bitter masterless possession.
The thread of your eyes is broken.
You have found the drink of conquest, of death poison.
Stubborn for them was the strife with you—
the war departed in cold bodies.
You have slain a hundred armed men.
For you the noble dog has torn (them) in pieces.
Your tale is stubborn and a cause of strife.
It is a fore-token of tears in dreadful manner.
Sorrowful is my knowledge of you,
while I shed tears and lament.
Dear were it for me to go with you
and to be burnt to ashes.
You were the fairest troop in Ireland.
Young men of Connaught, I lament you,
Each who has killed you, he is not stately,
I see . . .
Great was your host in war
against the Fomorians.
Many women are there who will cry "uch" and "ach"
behind the very proud.
Proudly you came into the house;
you had no vassal for father.
Since you had accepted the privilege of the chiefs
it was not suitable for you to fly!
You have feasted the Badb, the pale one,
amidst the weapons; sufficient your boldness.
The young men of Connaught with beauty
are men in a heavy state of sorrow.
X
Ferb.
O Donnell, son of dear Duban!
O hawk of dangerous valour!
since you are dauntless for the sake of a deed
of fame,
your foster-brother has been killed.
Donnell.
Though Mani the warrior is fallen,
yet he surpassed all his contemporaries
in skill, in valour, in glory,
in honour, and clemency.
Ferb.
This is not the deed of a hero that you do
sighs, crying of woe, and laments! Since Mani will not return after that
it were better to go valiantly against his foes.
Donnell.
I will be a fiery bull in the war.
I will make blood spring through the skin.
I will give many incessant blows
to Conor the red-sworded.
Ferb.
Not too much would be that Conor the fair
should die, as vengeance for Mani the courageous;
For there will not come, and there is not born
The equal of Mani in Croghan!
Donnell.
Conor, though great his glory,
and Niall and Feradach
are vengeance for Mani—a sharp hewing in pieces.
My hand shall slay them, O Ferb !
Ferb.
If you it were, O Donnell Derg,
whom the Ulstermen had slain for the sake of Ferb,
so would the revenge taken for you be glorious
in the tale of Mani, the doer of great deeds.
Donnell.
Since he himself it is who is dead,
Mani Morgor with the greatness of a warrior,
I will not go westwards to my home
while any of the Ulstermen live!
Ferb.
It would be peace for my good heart,
it would be a comfort for my soul,
if all the Ulstermen were destroyed for the deed
they have done,
by your violent hand, O Donnell!
XI
Sorrowful is it, O son of Maev! O beautiful and skilful youth,
Bloody and red is your skin,
from you has our ill fortune come.
It is through you that my father has been slain
he was a good warrior, a good vassal.
Through you has his son been slain;
not easy for me to forget it.
Through you has much evil been done.
I have learnt by its appearance that it is due to you.
Much evil shall follow therefrom
for the people of Mani and of Ferb.
My heart is broken on this account
at the sight of your bed of death.
A curse on the hand that has cut you to pieces
and has brought you to an evil bed.
Many are the maidens to whom you shall give sorrow,
many ladies—that you, oh marvellously skilful youth,
art dead.
Many are the assemblies who shall lament for you
and because you are missing, you alone.
You were till now beautiful,
with your young dogs at the chase;
lofty was your mind,
on account of the beauty of your handsome form.
You are ugly now,
pale are your hands,
Methinks that woe should be to him who will not
lament,
your head is off your body.
Evil is the tidings which shall be carried westward
to Finnabair of the fair hostages;
The message about her brother is full of grief for her,
and that he is wanting to the fair Ferb.
Alill and Maev from the plains of Mag Ai, they will not remain in life.
The appearance of thy cheeks is terribly changed.
I am not one who has not had a sufficiency of misery.
XII
The vision of Conor the upright,
The son of Cathba, the valiant, fair and great,
The high king of Ulster—an unhurt journey.
Conor there lay on a night
in sleep—it was not a light sleep;
there saw he Something come to him: a woman
to him on his couch.
Purple-red her robe with figures of gold,
this was her apparel—she was not indigent—
silken stripes upon her head,
a high diadem of gold round about it.
To him spoke the woman with renown,
"Good is the sign, O Conor!
Honour and fortune for thee
from every side since thou art illustrious."
"What is the next thing for us?" 5 said the son of Nessa, the noble of race.
"Say to me, oh woman of brightness,
How long is it to the war?"
"Seven full years from to-night
thou shalt be compelled to gather to one place,
with boys and women—an honour that shall slay them— for the sake of the Dun of Cualgne, rich in wars."
"Who carries it off—give an answer without a lie— who has undertaken the war to the death?"
"The high army of Ireland manoeuvres
under Alill of the plain of Cruachan."
"That wish I not, it is a track that is not good,"
said Conor, the head of war.
"Is there another glorious meeting,
O woman, yellow haired, white limbed?"
"There is a renowned deed; food to eat on the way,
and there is no need to watch for a lie;
the son of that man, he comes to you without shame,
Mani More, he who is praised by warriors.
"He is come to sleep with Ferb, 10 with the daughter of Gerg of Glenn Geirg,
with three times fifty warriors, a real design,
this is their number, no false reckoning.
"At the ninth hour, quite clear is my speech,
is the setting forth of the feast;
there they delay together,
O king of great and fair Emain."
"In what numbers should we go—an expedition with-
out blame?" said Conor the upright one, the fair shaped.
"Bring against them—a speech without treason—
three times fifty of the Fomorians.
"You shall have triumph with valour,
Conor, greatly rich in wars.
I will take the glorious story on me,
O king of great and fair Emain."
Conor waked thereat
and awoke his queen.
He told her what had appeared to him
by a revelation without falsehood.
His wife with bounty spoke to him, 15 Mugain, rich in honour, of great wisdom.
"It is yet enough what has already happened
between us and Connaught."
Conor spoke, the bright glorious,
the lordly ruler of war,
"’Tis certain that, although we abide in our house,
Connaught will come to us."
"Since fate has directed you to go
I will not hold you back by force,
O lord of Ulster, with ornament of the army,
may you come again to complete victory."
Thereupon Conor departed thither
with the self-same numbers—it was no lie—
to Raith Ini, a valiant gathering,
where Gerg dwelt, to whom the royal burg belonged.
When they were come to the renowned feast,
the weaponed troop with clear motive,
they entered in—marvellous was their order— through the door of the great castle.
Conor went into the court; 20
three times fifty warriors—a strength that
was known—
he left his people outside
in his strategy—a skilful plan.
A brazen vessel in the house of the king
that was there filled with wine,
he approached—a speech (was not)—
The son of Nessa, renowned in strife.
"Woe," said the Druid,
who turned not away from the king's side,
"I have known ....
Brod ane in airidig."
There was no delay on that;
then Brod threw his spear
so that it went through Gerg in his house,
and through the beaker.
Conor came into the house
with three times fifty warriors,
so that he struck the head from Mani
with his seven times twenty.
Conor left behind him in the house 25 his people in the manner of war;
Beside himself and Brod
none of them escaped to report of it.
The same woman, westwards to Maev,
spoke a message that was not long:
"Conor has slain thy son.
Evil the hour when he went to the war with him."
Maev went forth from the west to war
with seven hundred men with weapons.
They warred face to face
on the plains of Ulster against Conor.
Maev slew there on the plain
seven men in the manner of war
with her own hand, better than any hero,
including the two sons of Conor.
Thereafter Maev was defeated westwards,
so that it was damage to her possessions,
whilst she left behind; so was it
seven times twenty bold warriors with valour.
They went thereupon to the burg; 30
the proud men of Ulster, they filled the walls,
they laid waste whatever was therein
with a crowd. . . .
They fought a fight with blood,
the people of Gerg there against the Ulster men,
so that they all killed each other,
king and kingly lord.
There died—noble were the men—
seven fair haired, seven dark haired, seven black
haired.
Of the men who filled the castle
(they slew) thirty fair men whose name was Fergus.
Thirty nobles named Murethach
who held out to the end of the war,
thirty Falbe, thirty Fland,
a noble thirty named Donnell.
Thirty Cobhtach, thirty Cond,
thirty—all dark men—named Corpre,
thirty Falbe, thirty Fland,
a fair thirty named Oengus.
Thenceforward altogether 35 of the eager men of hero strength and valour
there is no one that knows the end,
they were all in weakness.
All these—mighty was the clamour
through the shrieks of the followers with heavy
terror—
round their lords who fought the fight
they in that hour are fallen.
A prelude to the fair Tain bo Cualgne,
it will be for an enlargement of the combat,
and from the vision originates
the death of Mani More, the son of Maev.
Great the deeds that therefrom arise
though the vision was terrifying; Gerg fell with his host,
the lusty lord of hospitality.
Conor came with victory,
the son of Nessa, whom great hosts honoured,
to Eman Macha—a glorious deed: so that the vision has revealed itself.
THE END
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