Cúirt an hean-Oíche Brian Ba ghnáth mé ag siúl le ciumhais na h-abhann, Ar bháinseach úr 'san drúcht go trom, In aice na gcoillte i gcoim an tsléibhe, Gan mhairg, gan mhoill le soilse an lae. Do ghealadh mo chroí nuair chínn Loch Gréine, An talamh, an tír, is íor na spéire: Ba thaithneamhach aoibhinn suíomh na sléibhte, Ag bagairt a gcinn thar dhroim a chéile. Do ghealadh an croí a bhí críon le cianta, Caite gan bhrí nó líonta i bpianta; An séithleach searbh gan sealbh gan saibhreas D'fhéachfadh tamall thar bharra na gcoillte An lachain 'na scuainte ar chuan gan ceo, 'S an eala ar a bhfuaid 's í ag gluaiseacht leo, Na h-éisc le meidhir ag éirí in áirde, Péirse im radharc go taibhseach tarrbhreac, Dath an locha agus gorm na dtonn Ag teacht go tolgach, torannach, trom. Bhíodh éanlaith i gcrainn ann go meidhreach mómharach Is léimneach eilite i gcoillte im chóngar, Géimneach adharc 'is radharc ar shlóite, Tréanrith gadhar 'is Reynard rompu. Ar maidin inné bhí an spéir gan cheo, Bhí Cancer ón ngréin 'na caortha teo, Is í gafa chun saothair tar éis na h-oíche Agus obair an lae sin roimpi sínte. Bhí duilliúr craobh ar ghéaga im thimpeall, Fiorthann is féar 'ina slaoda taobh liom, Bhí glasra fáis ann, bláth 'is luibheanna. Scaipfeadh chun fáin dá chráiteacht smaointe. Bhí mé cortha 'san codladh im thraochadh, Shín mé tharm ar chothram an fhéir ghlais In aice na gcrann i dteannta trinse, Taca lem cheann 'smo hannlaí sínte. Ar gceangal mo shúl go dlúth le chéile, Greamaithe dúnta in ndubhghlas néalta, 'Is m'aghaidh agam folaithe ó chuilibh go sásta, I dtaidhreamh d'fhulaing mé an chuilithe cráite, A chorraigh go lom, a pholl go h-ae mé, 'S mé im chodladh go trom gan mheabhair, gan éirim. Ba ghairid mo shuan nuair chualas, shíleas, An talamh maguaird ag luascadh im thimpeall, Anfa aduaidh agus fuadach fíochmhar, Agus caladh an chuain ag tuargan tinte. Shiolla dem shúil dar shamhlaíos uaim, Chonaic mé chugam le ciumhais an chuain An mhásach bholgach tholgach thaibhseach Chnámhach cholgach ghoirgeach ghaibhdeach. A h-airde i gceart, mar a mheasaim, díreach. A sé nó seacht de shlata 'is fuíollach. Péirse beacht dá brat léi scaoilte Ina diaidh san tslab le drab is raoibeal. Ba mhór, ba mhiar, ba fhiain le féachaint Suas ina h-éadan créachtach créimeach: Ba anfa a cealltair, 's ba scanradh saolta A draid is a drandal mantach méirscreach. A Rí gach má! ba láidir líofa A bíoma láimhe agus lánstaf inti, Comhártha práis in airde ar spíce Agus cumhachta báille ina bharr air scríofa. Agus dúirt go goirgeach d'fhoclaibh dána: Másach Múscail! corraigh! a chodlataigh ghránna! Is dubhach an tslí duit sínte id shliasaid; Cúirt ina suí agus na mílte ag triall ann. Ní cúirt gan acht, gan reacht, gan riail, Ná cúirt na gcreach mar do chleacht tú riamh, An chúirt seo ghluais ó shlóite séimhe, Ach cúirt na dtrua, na mbua 'is na mbéithe. Is mór le maíomh i gcríocha Éibhir, Uaisle sí mar shuíodar d'aonghuth. Dhá lá agus oíche ar bhinn an tsléibhe I bpálás líonmhar Bhruíon Mhaigh Gréine. Is daingean a ghoill sé ar uaisle an rí, Ar mhaithe an teaghlaigh taibhsigh sí Is ar uimhir na buíne a bhi ina ndáil, Mar d'imigh gach díth ar chríocha Fáil, Gan seilbh, gan saoirse ag síolrach seanda, Gan cheannas i ndlí, gan chíos, gan cheannphort; Scriosadh an tír agus níl ina ndiaidh ann In ionad na luibheanna ach fliodh 'is fiaile: Na h-uaisle ab fhearr chun fáin mar léadar Agus uachtar lámh ag fáslaigh saibhre, Ag fealladh le fonn agus foghail gan féachaint, D'feannadh na lobhar 'san lom dá léirscrios, Is docharach dubhach mar d'fhúig gach daoirse Go doilbhir dúr i ndubhcheart dlithe: An fann gan feidhm ná faigheann ó aon neach Ach clampar domhain agus luí chun léirscrios; Fallsacht fear dlí agus fochnaoid airdnirt; Cam 'is callaois, faillí 'is fábhar; Scamall an dlí agus fíordhath fáincheart; Dalladh le bríb, le fís 'is fallsacht. I bhfarradh gach fíor, fuíoll níor fágadh, Dearbhadh díbligh ar Bhíobla an lá san Cúis, dar ndóigh, ná geobhairse saor tríd: Cnó na h-óige á feo le faolras, Is easnamh daoine suite in Éirinn Mheath led chuimhne an síolrach daona; Is folamh tráite fágadh tíortha; An cogadh 'san bás gan Spás á ndíogadh, Uabhar na ríthe 'is ar imigh thar sáile, An uair ná déanann sibh tuille ina n-áit díobh; Is náire bhur n-iomad gan siorraigh gan síolrach. Agus mná ina muirear ar mhuir 'is ar thíortha, Ciúnsaigh chorpartha agus borracaigh óga, Agus bonnsaigh bhrothallacha fola agus feola, Lóistigh liosta agus liostathaigh sásta, Agus mórgaigh shioscaithe a d'imigh i bhfásach. Is trua gan toircheas tollairí den tsórt-so, Is trua gan tórmach brollach 'is bóta iad. Is minic iad ullamh, an focal da bhfaighidis, Ag titim dá mogall agus molaimse a bhfoighne. Is é cinneadh le saoithe i gcríoch na comhairle I gcoinne na daoirse do h-inseadh dóibh-sin, Duine den bhuíon bhí líonta i gcumhachta, Ar dtitim an dísle do shuíomh i bhFódla. Táirgeann Aoibheall, croí gan aon locht, Grá na Muimhneach, sí-bhean Léith-chraig, Scaradh le saoithe sí na slua-so, 'Is scathamh ag scaoileadh daoirse i dTuain-seo. Do gheall an mhíonla chaointais chóir-seo Fallsacht dlído chloí go cumhachtach, Seasamh i dteannta fann 'is faonlag; Is chaithfeadh an teann bheith ceannsa daonna, Is chaithfeadh an neart don cheart so stríochadh, Agus chaithfeadh an ceart ina cheart bheith suite. Geallaim anois nach clis ná cumhachta, Caradas Miss ná Pimp ná comhalta, A shiúlfaidh tríd an dlí so ghnáth San chúirt ina suifidh an síolrach neamhaí. Atá an chúirt seo seasmhach feasta san bhFiacail, Siúl-se! freagair í! caithfidh tú triall ann, Siúl gan tafann go tapa ar do phriacail, Siúl nó stróicfead san lathaigh im dhiaidh tú!

The Midnight Court Brian It was my custom walking beside the river, On the fresh green grass in heavy dew, Beside the woods in a recess of the mountain, Without worry, without delay at the [first] light of day. My heart used to gladden when I'd see Loch Gréine, The land, the countryside and the horizon; It was pleasing, beautiful the setting of the mountains, Brandishing their heads over the back of each other. The heart used to gladden which was worn out with griefs Spent without strength or filled with pain; The emaciated person, bitter, without property or riches Who would look a while over the tops of the woods On ducks in their flocks on a harbour without fog, And the swan amongst them and she moving with them, The fish with merriment rising up, A perch in sight, showy and speckle-bellied. The colour of the lake and the blue of the waves Coming violently, noisily, heavily. There used to be birds in the trees there merry, graceful And jumping of a doe in woods in my nearness, Trumpeting of horns and sight of the hosts, Hard running of hounds and Reynard before them. Yesterday morning was the sky without mist, Was Cancer from the sun a burning mass, And she ready for labours after the night And [for] work of that day stretched before her. There were tree leaves on branches around me, A grassy place and grass in their swathes beside me, There were luxuriant greens there, flowers and herbs, Would scatter thoughts afar however tormented. I was fatigued and the sleep exhausting me, I stretched myself out on a level of green grass Beside the trees, alongside a trench, Support for my head and my limbs outstretched. On the bonding of my eyes tightly together, Fastened shut in the black lock of sleep, And my face covered from the flies satisfactorily, In a vision I suffered the torment of woe, Which moved close, which pierced me to the liver, And me in my heavy sleep, unconscious, senseless. It was short my rest when I heard, I thought, The land around swaying about me, A storm from the north and a furious blast of wind, And the pier of the harbour pounding fires. (With) a glance of my eye, as it seemed to me, I saw [coming] towards me, by the edge of the harbour, The large-buttocked, big-bellied, haughty, magnificent, Bony, angry, surly, stout-calved woman. Her height exactly, as I estimate, correctly, Was six or seven yards and a bit. Exactly one perch of her cloak trailing Behind her in the mud with filth and mire. It was great, it was august, it was wild to look Up into her forehead, wounded, time-worn; It was a tempest her visage, and it was a living terror Her grin and her gums toothless and cracked. Oh king of every plain! it was strong and sharp Her beam of a hand, and a great staff in it. An emblem of brass at the top on a spike And powers of a bailiff on the top of it written. And [she] said harshly in bold words: Gargantua Wake! stir! you sleepy wretch! It's sad the way to you, stretched on your thigh: A court sitting and thousands travelling there. Not a court without statute, without law, without rule, Nor a robbery court to which you're accustomed always, This court proceeded from gentle people, A court of compassion, of virtue and maidens. It is great to be told of in the lands of Éibhir, Noble fairies as they sat in unity, Two days and a night on the tops of the mountain In the populous palace of Gréine's fairy dwelling. It is severe that it grieved the nobility of the king, And the good people of the house, splendid fairies, And a number of the retinue who were in his company, As suffered every sorrow on the land of Ireland, Without property, without freedom for an ancient race, Without control of law, without rents nor leaders: Was destroyed the land and nothing remains there Except plants, chickweed and weeds; The best nobles astray as if they melted away And the nouveaux-riches having the upper hand, Deceiving with eagerness and robbing without regard, Skinning the lepers and the naked to their ruin, It's distressing, dismal how each slavery left Cheerlessly, dourly without justice of law: The weak without redress who'll not get from anyone But deep trouble and the inclination to destruction; Falseness of lawyer and derision from high and mighty; Crookedness and fraud, neglect and favouritism; A legal cloud and true colour of vagrant justice; Blinding with bribe, with fees and falsehood. Along with all truth, nothing was left out, A base affirmation on the Bible that day in the Case, indeed, that you will not go unscathed through it: The finest of the youth, withering from lack of culture, There is a scarcity of settled people in Ireland. Failed, to your memory, the human progeny; It is empty, exhausted the lands that are left; The war and death suddenly draining them, The pride of the kings and all who emigrated, When you're not making more to replace them; It is a shame so many of you without foals or progeny. And women in their hordes on the sea and on the lands. Beauties with fine bodies and arrogant wenches, And sultry slips of girls of blood and flesh, Pestering idlers and willing frail ones, And trim great ones who went into waste. It is a pity without pregnancy strong ones of that sort, It's a pity they're without swelling of breasts and body. It is often they're ready, if they would get the word, Falling from their net, and I praise their patience. It is decided by the wise ones at end of the council Against the slavery which was told to them, A person of their company was fully in power, To the fall of the dice to a location in Ireland. Aoibheall proffers advice a heart without any fault, Love of the Munster-folk, Creglee's fairy-queen: Part company from the sages of the shee of this host, It is a while freeing slaves in this Thomond. Pledged this gentle, delicate, just (person) Legal falsehood to subdue powerfully, Standing along with the weak and feeble; The strong must be gentle, humane, The mighty must to this justice submit, And must right as right be established. I pledge now that neither tricks nor influence, The friendship of miss, pimp or crony, Who will walk through the law as they're wont In the court in which will sit the heavenly breed. This court is firmly established henceforth in Feakle, Walk! answer it! you will have to journey there, Walk without urging, fast, at your peril, Walk, or I will haul you in the mud behind me!