The Youth of Finn Mac Cool - Doomsword

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