On Midsummer Day (Murtaugh) On midsummer day in the land of Erin The war with the Firbolg about to begin Thrice nine of the children of Danu were killed In the first bloody hurl match upon the great hill For four days a terrible slaughter took place The king of the Firbolg with agonized face At the Morrigan's screaming while circling above And blood drenched the country of goddesses' love Derry down, down, down, derry down Yeokay the Firbolg was killed in his flight The hand of Nuada chopped off in the fight Tho battle was ended there was just one thing Nuada was blemished, he could not be king Avoiding occurrence of political wars The goddesses' children went to the Fomors The king of the Fomors, he sent them his son To rule Danu's children and block out the sun Derry down, down, down, derry down The name of this evil new ruler was Bres Stole most of their cattle and taxed all the rest Ogma the champion was sent to fetch wood The Dagda was forced to build forts fast as he could They suffered from insult from famine and cold Bres would not allow them their pleasures to hold The Armid, the Dianchet and Miach were known Attempting to help Nuada take back the throne Derry down... They dug up his hand and they put in place The magic was worked and the pentagrams traced Sinew to sinew and nerve to nerve fold Nuada's eyes glistened and he became whole A poet and tale teller deserved some respect I sang songs for Bres tho I didn't expect To be thrown in a dungeon, no fire, no bread A curse upon Bres was the next thing I read Derry down... No meat on the plates and no milk of the cows No money for minstrels, no homes for ourselves By hoarding and taxing he says he conserves May Bres receive what he truly deserves The magic began as the magic was said And his face became covered with blotches bright red By being a tyrant he was made a fool The result of this blemish was he could not rule Derry Down... And Nuada returned to the throne once again And the children of Danu rejoiced to the end By feasting and drinking all night till we fold the triumphant children of goddess of old. AB, SOF
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!