Paraphrased from Laerg’s poem in Serglige Con Chulainn, “The Love-Sickness of Cú Chulainn”
from “Serglige Con Chulainn“, ed. Myles Dillon from Lebor na hUidre; lines 486 – 513
Poetic rendering by Chris Thompson
Colba do lepthaib crónda,
úatne finna forórda,
is sí caindell ardustá
in lía lógmar lainerdá.
Soft crimson beds there are
Emblazoned gold and green
And brilliant precious stones shine out,
In place of candlelight
Atát arin dorus tíar,
insinn áit h-i funend grían,
graig n-gabor n-glas, brec a mong,
is araile corcordond.
There where sun goes down,
Close at the Western door,
A stud of steeds, grey dappled mares,
Another, crimson brown.
Atát arin dorus sair
tri bile do chorcor-glain,
dia n-gair in énlaith búan bláith
don macraid assin rígráith.
And at the eastern gate
Three tall and stately trees.
From which sing birds, immortal blooms,
To fill the young with joy.
Atá crand i n-dorus liss,
ní h-étig cocetul friss,
crand airgit ris tatin grían,
cosmail fri h-ór a roníam.
The roof tree of the house,
Glints silver in the sun;
Or lustrous gold, poured out in full,
Matchless in harmony
Atát and tri fichit crand,
comraic nát chomraic a m-barr,
bíatar tri cét do chach crund
do mes ilarda imlum.
Three-score of orchard trees
Grow green from tip to tip;
Enough to feed three hundred men
With ripe and ready fruit
And three-score orchard trees
All touching tip to tip;
A hall they weave to feed the hosts
With ripe and ready fruit.
Atá tipra sint shíd thréll
cona tri cóectaib breclend,
& delg óir cona lí
i n-óe checha breclenni.
A fountain in the síd
Is bright with speckled sun
The flash of trout, in pools of light,
Like cloaks pinned up with gold
Dabach and do mid medrach
oca dáil forin teglach:
maraid béos, is búan in bés,
conid bithlán do bithgrés.
A vat of merry mead
To satisfy the house
Is kept for ever foaming full;
May the custom long live on!