The Courtship of Ferb
O son of Maev, her people's queen,
O lofty shoot of high renown!
Who cause of all our grief hast been
Since here at dusk you laid you down.
No weakling Alill is, whose deeds
On you as son his fame confer;
My heart for grief within me bleeds
That low you lie in sepulchre.
O golden sceptre on a bed!
Your skill, bright youth, all skill surpassed;
Yet, when to fight your foe was led,
For you that contest was the last!
Your hand was rough in fiercest fight,
Fomorians of your force can tell;
Down crashed your blows with thund'ring might,
Not few the men on whom you fell.
Your colour beauteous was, and bright,
With care you did all duties well;
Across each vale your foot flew light,
Not few the men on whom you fell.
31
