Of the many _poems_--as distinguished from sagas, which are a mixture of poetry and prose--said to have been produced from pagan times down to the eighth century, none can be properly called epics or even épopées. There are few continued efforts, and the majority of the pieces though interesting for a great many reasons to students, would hardly interest an English reader when translated. Unfortunately, such a great amount of our early literature being lost, we can only judge of what it was like through the shorter pieces which have been preserved, and even these short pieces read rather jejune and barren in English, partly because of the great condensation of the original, a condensation which was largely brought about by the necessity of versification in difficult metres. In order to see beauty in the most ancient Irish verse it is absolutely necessary to read it in the original so as to perceive and appreciate the alliteration and other _tours de force_ which appear in every line. These verses, for instance, which Mève, daughter or Conan, is said to have pronounced over Cuchorb, her husband, in the first century, appear bald enough in a literal translation:-- "Moghcorb's son whom fame conceals [covers] Well sheds he blood by his spears, A stone over his grave--'tis a pity-- Who carried battle over Cliú Máil. My noble king, he spoke not falsehood, His success was certain in every danger, As black as a raven was his brow, As sharp was his spear as a razor," etc. One might read this kind of thing for ever in a translation without being struck by anything more than some occasional _curiosa felicitas_ of phrase or picturesque expression, and one would never suspect that the original was so polished and complicated as it really is. Here are these two verses done into the exact versification of the original, in which interlinear vowel-rhymes, alliterations, and all the other requirements of the Irish are preserved and marked:-- "Mochorb's son of Fiercest FAME, KNown his NAME for bloody toil, To his Gory Grave is GONE, He who SHONE o'er SHouting Moyle. Kindly King, who Liked not LIES, Rash to RISE to Fields of Fame, Raven-Black his Brows of FEAR, Razor-Sharp his SPEAR of flame," etc.[18]