The Ballad of Cuchulainn

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A little rhyming story about the Mythological, Irish Celtic hero, Cuculainn.

Submitted: July 17, 2017

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Submitted: July 17, 2017

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The Ballad of Cuchulainn

 

Let me tell you the tale

Of the original Irish son,

Let me tell you the story

Of the Ulster hero, Cuchulainn.

 

Setanta was no normal  boy

He was born to be a hero true.

With fiery hues in his long curly hair

and eyes of piercing blue.

 

As he entered his Lords’ great hall

 He was attacked by a fearsome hound.

He fought and wrestled the snarling beast

 Beating it to the ground.

 

Lord Cullan flew into a terrible rage

For his faithful guard dog lay dead,

Setanta with his bare hands

Had dashed open the fearsome hound’s head.

 

As Setanta offered to take the guard dog’s place,

His Lord looked on with eyes cold and sullen

‘From this day forth,’ he proclaimed;

‘You shall be known by all as Cuchulainn.’

 

Cuchulainn travelled to the land of mists

To study under the warrior queen, Scatha.

He spent a year and a day honing his fighting skills

Before returning home to Emain Macha.

 

His weapon was the terrible spear, Gae-bolg

His steed the mighty Grey of Macha.

Winning victory upon bloody victory

Cuchulainn's name grew in stature.

 

 

Many heroic deeds were heaped upon his name,

Many battles he single handedly won.

He was the warrior champion of Ulster

 The hero known as, Cuchulainn.

 

Many a fair maiden came to his hall

Hoping to play the courting game.

Even the War goddess Morrigan

Was drawn to the warrior hero’s fame.

 

 

The Morrigan the Goddess of war

Looked upon him with fiery eyes of hate,

When Cuchulainn spurned her love advances

She cursed the hero sealing his fate.

 

All of his enemies she did gather

On Ulster they would descend,

Slaughtering, killing and spilling blood,

For the life of Cuchulainn she was determined to end.

 

The great battle of Ulster had begun

 With spear and sword Cuchulainn cut a bloody path

As he butchered and hacked his enemies down,

There seemed no end to his terrible wrath.

 

All  through the day the battle raged on

With every thrust of his sword eight warriors fell dead.

There was no end to his terrible battle-rage

But he himself took mortal wounds to stomach and to head.

 

Strapping himself to a standing stone

The Hero of Ulster refused to die lying down.

Slowly the life-blood drained from him;

Seeping sanguine into the ground.

 

 

But as the dreaded battle crow

Perched upon his shoulder,

His cowardly enemies slowly advanced

With every step closer, they grew bolder and bolder.

 

,

On trembling legs they crowded around,

For the hero of Ulster was at last truly dead

With their last cowardly act

They cut of his sword hand and his head.

 

 

Many feats he had valiantly conquered

Many battles he had heroically won,

He was the one and only, Cuchulainn,

The original Irish son.


© Copyright 2017 Celtic-Scribe63. All rights reserved.

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