Classic Poem

“Woman, take away my tunic: rise up and go from me: prepare to depart, clear one of rosy cheeks, the morn before my slaying.”
“O Goll, what way shall I take? alas for those whose friends are few! rare is the woman that has grace, when she is left without head, without lord.”
“Seek the camp of Fionn of the Fiana in its place on this westward side; wed there, gentle one of red lips, some good man worthy of thee.”
“What man there might I wed, my great Goll that wast kind to me? where might I find west or east thy equal for a bed-fellow?”
“Wilt thou have Oisin son of Fionn, or Aonghus son of Aodh Rinn, or muscular bloodstained Caireall, or the hundred-wounding Corr Chos-luath?”
“Conall of Cruachain is my father: I am fellow-fosterling to Conn of the Hundred Battles: brother to me in the northern land is Ceidghein son of shaft-stout Conall.
“It is the harder for me to leave thee, that thou art my gentle sweet first husband: seven years of bravery agone, thou broughtest me, husband, to thy couch.
“From that night until to-night, thou hast not shown me a harsh mind: from this night out I will not be light-minded, I will belong to no man on the surface of earth.
“Thirty days living without food scarcely was ever man before thee: a hundred heroes, Goll, by thy hand have fallen on the narrow crag.”
“Wide is the sea around us, and I on the narrow of the crag: hunger for food is betraying me, and thirst is overmatching me.
“Though hunger for food is betraying me, though fierce is the warfare of the five battalions, still more it takes the beauty from my cheek, to have to drink bitter-strong brine.
“My own twenty-nine brothers if one man of the Fian had killed, it would make my peace with him (were he) to relieve me for one night from thirst.”
“Goll son of Morna from Magh Maoin, eat those bodies at thy side: it will relieve thy thirst after [eating of] the men to drink the milk of my breasts.”
“Daughter of Conall, I will not hide it—ah! it is pitiful how this thing has befallen—woman's bidding north or south I will not do and have never done.”
“Ah! Goll, it is a woeful plight, five battalions or six against thee, and thou on the corner of a hard crag, a bare lofty chilly crag.”
“That, O red mouth that wast musical, was my one fear on wave or land—Fionn and his Fian pressing on me and I without food in a narrow corner.
“I have stained my shafts right well in the bodies of the House of Tréanmh r: I have inflicted on them suffering and hardship, I have killed shaft-strong Cumhall.
“I brought the Munstermen to grief on the Tuesday in Magh Léana: I delivered battle bravely on the morn in Magh Eanaigh.
“Eochaidh Red-spot son of Mál, of Ulster's proud-faced over-king, I plunged into that hero my spear: I brought them to sorrow, woman.”