"O my friend Ferdia! unhappy was it for thee that thou didst make no inquiry from any of the heroes who knew of the valorous deeds I had done before thou camest to meet me in that battle that was too hard for thee! Unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not inquire from Laeg, the son of Riangabra[FN#60] about what was due from thee to a comrade. Unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not ask for the honest and sincere counsel of Fergus. Unhappy it was for thee that thou hast not sought counsel from the comely, the fresh-coloured, the cheery, the victorious Conall about what was due from thee to a comrade. Well do these men know, that never, till life and time come to an end, shall be born in the land of Connaught one who shall do deeds equal to those which have been done by thee. And if thou hadst made inquiry from these men concerning the habitations, the gatherings, the promises, and the broken faith of the fair-haired ladies of Connaught; hadst thou asked them concerning spear-play and sword-play; concerning skill in backgammon and chess; concerning feats with horses, and chariots of war; they would have said that never had been found the arm of a champion who could wound a hero's flesh like the arm of Ferdia; he whose colour matched the tints of the clouds: none who like thee could excite the croak of the bloody-mouthed vulture, as she calls her friends to the feast of the many-coloured flocks; none who shall fight for Croghan or be the equal of thee to the end of life and time, O thou ruddy-cheeked son of Daman!" said Cuchulain. And then Cuchulain stood over Ferdia. "Ah! Ferdia," said Cuchulain, "great was the treachery and desertion that the men of Ireland had wrought upon thee, when they brought thee to combat and fight with me. For it was no light matter to combat and fight with me on the occasion of the Tain bo Cuailnge." And thus it was that he spoke, and he then recited these words: [FN#60] Pronounced Reen-gabra. 'Twas guile to woe that brought thee; 'Tis I that moan thy fate; For aye thy doom hath caught thee, And here, alone, I wait. To Scathach, glorious mother, Our words, when boys, we passed; No harm for each from other Should come while time should last. Alas! I loved thee dearly, Thy speech; thy ruddy face; Thy gray-blue eyes, so clearly That shone; thy faultless grace. In wrath for strife advances No chief; none shield can rear To piercing storm of lances Of Daman's son the peer. Since he whom Aife[FN#61] bore me By me was slain in fight, No champion stood before me Who matched Ferdia's might. He came to fight, thus trusting Might Findabar be won; Such hopes have madmen, thrusting With spears at sand or sun. [FN#61] Pronounced Eefa. See note on this line.