This is an exercise in medieval alliterative verse and the language and
phrasing may occasionally appear archaic.

     Death of a Hero ( Cuchulain pron: Cuhulin)

From dawn and down all that day,
he, CuChulain, hero, Hound of Ulster,
plied the thunder-feat upon their thousands
till the plain was piled with their pallid dead
as leaves are littered by the late winds of autumn.

A poet stood forward proudly from the press
and called upon Cuchulain for the gift of his spear.
He was honour bound to grant a bard a boon.


The champion cast from his chariot, called”Here!”
and pierced the pompous poet
through his throat and through nine other men behind.
Lewy leapt to the spear and loosed it back,
a bright bolt that spilled CuChulain’s bowels.

He bunched up his bowels into his breast,
limped down to the loch side,
drank and bathed in the brilliant waters
and returned to die on the broad plain of battle.

To one side, a pillar stone, tall as a tree
lay westwards from the long loch.
He strode to it, his strength failing, strung his girdle over it
and bound his  bloodied breast with it
for he would dare to die standing, not lying down.

His blood ran in a bright stream over the battle field
into the light-lanced waters of the loch.
An otter, black as ash buds in a May morning,
came to sup at that slow stream.

The hero-light burned over CuChulain’s brow.
A black crow, Bran, came and sat on his shoulder
and glared at the gloating enemy with a glittering eye
as they stood round the stone and stared at the Hound
filled with a fresh fear of him
that he lived and might still loose their lives from them.
Lewy held back the hair of him
and hacked his head from his shoulders
with a single sweep of his sword.
Fearless, the Hound’s eyes flashed with fight
and his dauntless sword, dangling from his grip of death,
hewed the hand from his haughty killer.

His gallant mare, Grey of Macha,
sides streaming with blood and sweat,
came to the loch and looked for her beloved master,
beheld him beheaded and bound to the stone
bent her head to that brave breast
loved him and would not leave
him, CuChulain, hero, the Hound of Ulster, dead.