Still Cuchulain continued to gaze upon Ferdia. And now, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "strip for me the body of Ferdia, and take from him his armour and his garments, that I may see the brooch for the sake of which he undertook this combat and fight." Then Laeg arose, and he stripped Ferdia; he took his armour and his garments from him, and Cuchulain saw the brooch, and he began to lament and to mourn for him, and he spake these words: Ah! that brooch of gold![FN#62] Bards Ferdia knew: Valiantly on foes With hard blows he flew. Curling golden hair, Fair as gems it shone; Leaflike sash, on side Tied, till life had gone. [FN#62] The metre and the rhyme-system is that of the Irish. See notes, p. 196. Comrade, dear esteemed! Bright thy glances beamed: Chess play thine, worth gold: Gold from shield rim gleamed. None of friend had deemed Could such tale be told! Cruel end it seemed: Ah! that brooch of gold! "And now, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "open the body of Ferdia, and take the Gae-Bulg out of him, for I cannot afford to be without my weapon." Laeg came, and he opened Ferdia's body, and he drew the Gae-Bulg out of him, and Cuchulain saw his weapon all bloody and red by the side of Ferdia, and then he spake these words: Ferdia, I mourn for thy dying, Thou art pale, although purple with gore: Unwashed is my weapon still lying, And the blood-streams from out of thee pour. Our friends in the East who have seen us, When with Uathach and Scathach[FN#63] we dwelled, Can bear witness, no quarrel between us Or with words or with weapons was held. Scathach came; and to conflict inciting Were her accents that smote on mine ear; "Go ye all, where a swift battle fighting, German wields his green terrible spear! To Ferdia, I flew with the story, To the son of fair Baitan I sped, And to Lugaid, whose gifts win him glory, "Come ye all to fight German," I said. [FN#63] Pronounced Ooha and Scaha. Where the land by Loch Formay lies hollowed Had we come, fit for fight was the place; And beside us four hundred men followed; From the Athisech Isles was their race. As beside me Ferdia contended Against German, at door of his dun; I slew Rind, who from Niul[FN#64] was descended, I slew Rood, of Finnool was he son. [FN#64] Pronounced Nyool. 'Twas Ferdia slew Bla by the water, Son of Cathbad red-sworded was he: And from Lugaid Mugarne gat slaughter, The grim lord of the Torrian sea. Four times fifty men, stubborn in battle, By my hand in that gateway were slain; To Ferdia, of grim mountain cattle Fell a bull, and a bull from the plain. Then his hold to the plunderers giving, Over ocean waves spangled with foam, Did we German the wily, still living, To the broad-shielded Scathach bring home. There an oath our great mistress devising, Both our valours with friendship she bound; That no anger betwixt us uprising Should 'mid Erin's fair nations be found.