make a
dun on the bald hill of Cuailgne, and he put it on the Fianna of Ireland
to bring stones for building it; a third on the sons of Morna, a third
on myself, and a third on the sons of Baiscne.

I gave an answer to Finn, son of Cumhal; I said I would be under his
sway no longer, and that I would obey him no more.

When Finn heard that, he was silent a long time, the man without a He,
without fear. And he said to me then: "You yourself will be dragging
stones before your death comes to you."

I rose up then with anger on me, and there followed me the fourth of the
brave battalions of the Fianna. I gave my own judgments, there were many
of the Fianna with me.

Now my strength is gone from me, I that was adviser to the Fianna; my
whole body is tired to-night, my hands, my feet, and my head, tired,
tired, tired.

It is bad the way I am after Finn of the Fianna; since he is gone away,
every good is behind me.

Without great people, without mannerly ways; it is sorrowful I am after
our king that is gone.

I am a shaking tree, my leaves gone from me; an empty nut, a horse
without a bridle; a people without a dwelling-place, I Oisin, son of
Finn.

* * * * *

It is long the clouds are over me to-night! it is long last night was;
although this day is long, yesterday was longer again to me; every day
that comes is long to me!

That is not the way I used to be, without fighting, without battles,
without learning feats, without young girls, without music, without
harps, without bruising bones, without great deeds; without increase of
learning, without generosity, without drinking at feasts, without
courting, without hunting, the two trades I was used to; without going
out to battle, Ochone! the want of them is sorrowful to me.

No hunting of deer or stag, it is not like that I would wish to be; no
leashes for our hounds, no hounds; it is long the clouds are over me
to-night!

Without rising up to do bravery as we were used, without playing as we
had a mind; without swimming of our fighting men in the lake; it is long
the clouds are over me to-night!

There is no one at all in the world the way I am; it is a pity the way I
am; an old man dragging stones; it is long the clouds are over me
to-night!

I am the last of the Fianna, great Oisin, son of Finn, listening to the
voice of bells; it is long the clouds are over me to-night!

NOTES

I. THE APOLOGY

The Irish text