The Youth Of Finn Mac Cool

We were roaming through the Black head

hungry and tired looking for food,

when we saw an old and thin deer

and we dreamt cooked flesh with beer,

we held in tight in our hand the spear,

like the mind it fled with its fear.

Nine warriors were at my side,

everyone incarnation of pride

together with my two hounds for that day,

still no food we had found,

with our usual defiance

the hunt carried on for more preys

thirsty spears shone.

Warrior and bard poetry

runs through your heart

enchant and dazes you

lower your blade.

On our path we boldly walked forth

when a red braded deer

from the north swiftly stood

before eager eyes,

to attack we all mobilized,

but even the hounds stood still at my cry:

"Leave that deer for he should die!"

Baffled eyes turned towards me

All admired my pure ecstasy,

with calm I sang my poetry

for its beauty my will should let be,

with my words all hearts were bestowed,

poetry's power I mystically showed.