Poems by Denis Florence MacCarthy
page 101 of 379 (26%)
page 101 of 379 (26%)
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Then was it for the first time he put on
His battle suit of battle and of fight, Before Cuchullin came unto the Ford. That battle suit of battle and of fight Was this: His apron of white silk, with fringe Of spangled gold around it, he put on Next his white skin. A leather apron then, Well sewn, upon his body's lower part He placed, and over it a mighty stone As large as any mill-stone was secured. His firm, deep, iron apron then he braced Over the mighty stone--an apron made Of iron purified from every dross-- Such dread had he that day of the Gaebulg. His crested helm of battle on his head He last put on--a helmet all ablaze From forty gems in each compartment set, Cruan, and crystal, carbuncles of fire, And brilliant rubies of the Eastern world. In his right hand a mighty spear he seized, Destructive, sharply-pointed, straight and strong:-- On his left side his sword of battle swung, Curved, with its hilt and pommel of red gold. Upon the slope of his broad back he placed His dazzling shield, around whose margin rose Fifty huge bosses, each of such a size That on it might a full-grown hog recline, Exclusive of the larger central boss That raised its prominent round of pure red gold. |
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