Then it was that Cuchulain arose and áinBóCústood over Ferdiad: "Ah, Ferdiad," spake Cuchulain "greatly have the men of Erin deceived and abandoned thee, to bring thee to contend and do battle [LL.fo.88a.] with me. For no easy thing is it to contend and do battle with me on the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge! [2]And yet, never before have I found combat that was so sore or distressed me so as thy combat, save the combat with Oenfer Aifè,[c] mine one own son."[2] Thus he spake, and he uttered these words:--
"Ah, Ferdiad, betrayed to death. Our last meeting, oh, how sad! Thou to die, I to remain. Ever sad our long farewell!
"When we over yonder dwelt With our Scathach, steadfast, true, This we thought till end of time, That our friendship ne'er would end!
"Dear to me thy noble blush; Dear thy comely, perfect form; Dear thine eye, blue-grey and clear; Dear thy wisdom and thy speech!
"Never strode to rending fight, Never wrath and manhood held, Nor slung shield across broad back, One like thee, Daman's red son!
[W.4051.] "Never have I met till now, Since I Oenfer Aifè slew, One thy peer in deeds of arms, Never have I found, Ferdiad!
"Finnabair, Medb's daughter fair, Beauteous, lovely though she be, As a gad round sand or stones, She was shown to thee, Ferdiad!"
Then Cuchulain turned to gaze on Ferdiad. "Ah, my master Laeg," cried Cuchulain, "now strip Ferdiad and take his armour and garments off him, that I may see the brooch for the sake of which he entered on the combat and fight [1]with me."[1] Laeg came up and stripped Ferdiad. He took his armour and garments off him and he saw the brooch [2]and he placed the brooch in Cuchulain's hand,[2] and Cuchulain began to lament and complain [3]over Ferdiad,[3] and he spake these words:--
"Alas, golden brooch; Ferdiad of the hosts, O good smiter, strong, Victorious thy hand!
"Thy hair blond and curled, A wealth fair and grand. Thy soft, leaf-shaped belt Around thee till death!
"Our comradeship dear; Thy noble eye's gleam; Thy golden-rimmed shield; Thy sword,[a] treasures worth!
[4]"Thy white-silver torque Thy noble arm binds. Thy chess-board worth wealth; Thy fair, ruddy cheek![4]
"To fall by my hand, I own was not just! 'Twas no noble fight. Alas, golden brooch!