The Prophecy of Scathach

Welcome to The Prophecy of Scathach

The following is from The Tain Bo Cuailgne, Translated by Thomas Kinsella.

A message came for Cuchulainn to come back to his own country. He bade Scathach and her people farewell. Scathach spoke to him of his future and of his end. She chanted to him through the Imbas Forasnai, The Light of Foresight. And this is what she told him.

I salute you-

weary after triumph,

battle eager, icy hearted!

Go where you will find some comfort still

what comfort comes with most speed

what comfort comes with most urgency

alone, no matter where you stand

dire danger ever at hand

alone and ringed with envy

Cruachan's Heroes you destroy

some heroes you protect

others lie broken necked

your straight sword stabs behind you

stained with Setanta's own gore

red battle's distant roar

bones broken by the spear

horned herds hemmed in

the cruel club's hard edge

raw flesh battle's badge

cattle stolen out of Breg

your country under bondage

cattle straying on the ways

for five tear sodden days

hardship and a long sigh

one against an army

your own blood a red plague

splashed on many a smashed shield

on weapons and women red eyed

the field of slaughter growing red

on chopped flesh raven's feed

the crow scours the plowed ground

the savage kite shall be found

herds broken up in wrath

great hosts driving the hordes

blood spilt in a great flood

Cuchulainn's body wasted

there are bitter wounds to bear

and warriors to slaughter

with your red stabbing spiked spear

grief and sorrow where you roam

murderous on Murtheimne Plain

playing at the stabbing game

now the crafty champion comes

in rage against a mighty wave

heroic in his mighty acts

and harsh scream and cruel heart

let him come and women kill

and Medb fight with Ailill

a bed of sickness lies in wait

your breast full of fierce hate

hear the white horned bull roar

against the Brown Bull of Cuailgne

when will he come and when force

with sharp valour through the forest

arise versed in the bloody spike

and long sweeping strong stroke

and twisting run and lone attack

shake off weakness and neglect

arise once more and seize your arms

seasoned in the crafts of war

proud striding raider pitiless

for Ulster's land and virgin women

rise now in all your force

with warlike cruel and wounding shield

and strong shafted curved spear

and straight sword dyed red

in dark gatherings of blood

men in Alba will know your name

in the winter night pity your wail

Aife and Uathach will pity

your sweet shape changing bright body

stretched in sleep nobly broken

for three and thirty full years

all your enemies are yours

you will keep for thirty years

your sharp valour and your force

I will not add another year

nor tell more of your career

full of triumph and women's love

what matter how short.

I salute you!


Heathens Against Hate-mongering,
      racism, sexism, homophobia, Nazism, and other ideologies that do violence to people.

Credits:

The Tain, translated by Thomas Kinsella

The Late Cian Mac Grainne for original source code