• Conary


It blazes up, even in the holder's hand,
And through the holder, and the door-planks through.
Flies forth to sate itself in massacre.
Ours is the massacre it now would make :
Our blood it maddens for : sirs, have a care
How ye assault where champions such as these
Armed with the lann of Keltar, wait within."
" I have a certain blade," said Ingcel, " here ;
Steel' d by Smith Way land in a Lochlann cave
Whose temper has not failed me ; and I mean
To cut the foul head off this Addercop,
And snap his gadding spear across my knee.
Go on, and say what more thou sawest within."

" A single warrior on a separate bench
I saw. Methinks no man was ever born
So stately-built, so perfect of his limbs,
So hero-like as he. Fair-haired he is
And yellow-bearded, with an eye of blue.
He sits apart and wears a wistful look.
As if he missed some friend's companionship

Then Ferragon, not waiting question, cried,
" Gods ! all the foremost, all the valiantest
Of Erin's champions, gathered in one place
For our destruction, are assembled here !
That man is Conall Carnach ; and the friend
He looks for vainly with a wistful eye
Is great Cuchullin : he no more shall share

Massacre, Wayland, Conall
Linen Hall Library, "Ferg016", Northern Ireland Literary Archive, accessed Sat, 08/13/2022 - 15:50, https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/ferg016