* * * * *
It is long the clouds are over me to-night! it is long last night was;
although this day is long, yesterday was longer again to me; every day
that comes is long to me!
That is not the way I used to be, without fighting, without battles,
without learning feats, without young girls, without music, without
harps, without bruising bones, without great deeds; without increase of
learning, without generosity, without drinking at feasts, without
courting, without hunting, the two trades I was used to; without going
out to battle, Ochone! the want of them is sorrowful to me.
No hunting of deer or stag, it is not like that I would wish to be; no
leashes for our hounds, no hounds; it is long the clouds are over me
to-night!
Without rising up to do bravery as we were used, without playing as we
had a mind; without swimming of our fighting men in the lake; it is long
the clouds are over me to-night!
There is no one at all in the world the way I am; it is a pity the way I
am; an old man dragging stones; it is long the clouds are over me
to-night!
I am the last of the Fianna, great Oisin, son of Finn, listening to the
voice of bells; it is long the clouds are over me to-night!
NOTES
I. THE APOLOGY
The Irish text of the greater number of the stories in this book has
been published, and from this text I have worked, making my own
translation as far as my scholarship goes, and when it fails, taking the
meaning given by better scholars.
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