King of Ulla, I left thy love for Naesa, My days are few after him. His funeral honors are performed. S Think not that I will survive my love. Ainli and Ardan, I desire not life when you are gone. Life has no charms now for me. My days are already too many. Delight of my soul, a shower of tears shall fall upon your grave. Ye men that dig their grave, prepare it wide and deep. I will rest on the bosom of my love. My sighs and groans will go with me to the tomb. Often were the shields and spears their bed. Lay their strong swords by their heads in the grave. Their dogs, their hawks,-who will attend them now? The hunters are no more on their hills; the valiant youths of Connal Cairni, My heart groans to see the collars of their hounds; often did I feed them, but now I weep when they draw near. pl. Ni pabas apjaṁ um aonap, Aét la Deanca bur nuajģe; Gi minje do bi fibre Agus mifi fan uajgnjos. Do cuajo mo rádaje vajms), Though Though many times we traversed the solitary waste, I knew no solitude, until the day that your grave was prepared.. My sight begins to fail, when I see thy grave, my Naesa. My life will soon depart, and the voice of my mourners be heard no more. As she concluded her lamentations, she sprung into the grave, and, on the breast of Naesa, expired. Thus ends one of the finest wrought tales, founded on original history, that is to be met with in any language. Should these short extracts excite attention, or awaken curiosity, the whole will soon be published; and a succession of similar pieces, from ancient Irish manuscripts, will be prepared, with translations, to come forward from the unmerited oblivion, in which they are now fast mouldering to decay. 2N2 |