A Dirge for King Niall of the Nine Hostages

Tuirn Son of Torna

When we used to go to the gathering with Echu's son,
Yellow as a bright primrose was the hair upon the head of Cairenn's
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
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,
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.