Death Of The Hero Poem by Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

One note rising on the wind:
piper play, the lament is called for:
lower him down and softly keen
Cu Chulainn's going to his rest.

Lady Emer cry farewell
the man is bruised and broken
no token of your love will now
redeem Cu Chulainn from the grave.

hang your heads, o noble beasts
hounds of Ulster ye are bereft
no master now, for he is slain
there's is no more Cu Chulainn

men of Ulster faint and ill
bestir your voices in his name
his fame should raise you from your cots
Cu Chulainn cannot from the grave.

O grey world, no music now
no gay troop, no feasts or feis
dash the cup from kingly hands
Cu Chulainn cannot longer drink

You could not face the man in life
you feared to face him as he lied
O men of munster hang your head
Cu Chulainn beat you all at last

Stand back, hang back and let
the birds of war attend his grave
only they can follow now
Cu Chulainn the hero as he goes.