Classic Poem

Inis Saimhear was the first dwelling-place in Ireland after the flood had possessed it — sufficient knowledge; the group of eight who obtained Ireland chanced to be in the north when they arrived. For three hundred years the prophet Fionntan was its only inhabitant after the flood; he first beheld habitation in her; behold a story that is accessible to all. Until Partholon took up dwelling there, apart from Eionntan alone, no human foot from the time of the flood trod upon the soil of Magh Fail of the white wine. The warrior had a pet dog from whom the name originally comes; I will not compare Saimhear, from whom it gets its name, with any dog in the world. Many are the pale rods catching trout about the edges of Inis Saimhear and there is white foam in bulging bubbles by the bare edges of the stone slabs. The proof that the brine of the sea comes into the middle of the Eirne is this: the sweetness of the pure water of the lovely island has embraced bitter brine. Difficult it is for a salmon to be contending with Eas Ruaidh from which Diarmaid used to be driven; it is a high column of the ancient, smooth slabs of rock, against which the pale, slender trout have leapt. There is a loud, ungentle stream pouring into Eas Ruaidh of the violent torrent; it is from Aodh Ruadh, who was carried along by the current, that the name was given to it. The open sea is about its mountains, there are mountains about its woods; there is a thickly-growing forest of white hazel, frequented by blackbirds, about the peaceful hills of the ancients. Inis Saimhear, the fort of ├ô Domhnaill of Druim Riasg, is his native place; the dwelling of the kings he got from Guaire; near to it are wine and greenness and fish. Two doors there are in the fort on the island, looking out upon horses and troops; and the third door, frequented by bands of poets, looks out over bright, oar-plied Eas Ruaidh. ├ô Domhnaill's warlike countenance like the flower of the nuttree, has a view of Eas Ruaidh; its snowy, bright wave faces him with its flocks of birds. Happy is the lord of Tir Aodha as he drinks wine from place to place; the rushing water of Eas Ruaidh is before him; opposite him is the expanse of the bird-haunted harbour. Into the dragnet comes a full catch of fish; every trout-net has almost broken; in Eas Ruaidh Gofraidh catches in casting-nets that which delights the host. Not mean, though the season be barren, is the heart of the son of Domhnall of the gifts; niggardly with his wealth — worse and worse — will be every king of his line who is later in descent. On a circuit of Ireland from the north I came upon men both base and noble; the chief of the grassy plain of Fanaid is the best young hero I have ever met. No use to them is the fortune of the insignificant family, that have it but for a while; Ireland in battle belongs to the Off-spring of Conall by virtue of the ancestor of the king of the stock of Colum. Redder, as a result of his hand, would the scene of battle after conflict be, than the colour of the trench, at which the battle of Magh Tuireadh in the west was joined. After it ├ô Domhnaill does not desist from distributing steeds and dark-red clothes to us, until Gofraidh's bristle closes about his green, lidded and lustrous eye. Redder than the colour of embers is the cheek of the son of Domhnall of Doire Nuis; base the wine that Gofraidh will not get — the power of mead will inflame his face. It was prophesied that, before the end of the world, there would be acorns atop the slender hazel-trees, the top of the white hazel would be hidden, there would be hazel-nuts at the summit of the oak-tree to cover it. The acorns are the Foreigners; they will regret what they have done; the colourful, brown-haired and curly Sons of Conn are the hazel branches that conceal them. Gofraidh would be similar to Domhnall Mor if the Foreigners did not hold sway; behold their cattle hard by Sligeach. How do I know? Does he know himself? Take your instruction from the king of the Kindred of Conall, O Sons of Eoghan of the fine weapon; let the leadership in conflict be ceded to ├ô Domhnaill who is best in difficulty. When Gofraidh of the ├ëirne defended his native country, as was his nature, the king suffered in vain by him: he got everything and he saw it taken from him. His returning westward over the mountain was unexpected when he came suddenly upon the Airghialla; he inflicted two great, heavy slaughters upon the opulent and valiant chief king of Colla. As he was a cause of reproach to the Fir Manach upon Magh Eine of the slender steeds, the branch of Cnucha rushed out against them early by the Mointeach. The king of the Fir Manach — great the good fortune — fell at the hands of the king of Rath Both; lo, it was like an account of his father's valour — it was the swimming of a duckling on a lake. He will be the sprouting of a seed in a springtime field — he does not make the valour of Magh Sainbh's cavalry about a younger man belie itself — all the less likely is the routing of the branch of Breagha. Gofraidh's father when he was as young as he, had not acquired all that he had come upon — weighty the good fortune — he did not defend the Dubh nor the Drobhaois in the west, he never joined battle when he was as young. Gofraidh, son of Domhnall ├ô Domhnaill, a wide face whom ruin follows, liken no-one to the pale scion; every respectable lady loves him.