The Saga of Rudraige mac Dela
This saga I tell,
Of Rudraige mac Dela;
Bane of all enemies,
Strong and with valour.
With Dela’s five sons,
He came to our shore;
In the divide of our Isle,
Ulster he did score.
His great company consisted,
Of Hearth guard of might;
Of Curaidh and pack masters,
And their wolfhounds who fight.
Priests and, warriors
Fill out his pack,
Enemies of the Fir Bolg,
To destroy and to sack.
Ard Ri of this Isle,
He was to become;
When Slaine his dear brother
Did finally succumb.
From Ulster to reign,
He succeeded his brother
At the Hill of Tara,
Received like no other.
When his foot he did place
On the stone of Lia Fáil
A mighty roar was heard
Throughout Tara’s vale.
The jewel in his crown
brave Ulster was sacked;
By Vikings and Danes
Who dared to attack.
Bretons as well
Did make up their number
Causing Rudraige mac Dela
To rise from his slumber.
The heads of these enemies
Now hang from his halls
A vision of splendour,
A lesson to all.
Rudraige mac Dela
Not one to slight
Rudraige mac Dela
For these he does smite.
Short was his reign
Two years at most
But that they did better
No Ard Ri can boast.
Of his fate I do say,
None can well tell,
Is he drinking in victory,
Or fallen to Mag Mel?
He rests in Brú na Bóinne
Or Newgrange, as it is now.
No enemies to worry him,
No frown on his brow.
Since then he’s been lost,
Not a glimpse or two,
Have we seen from him since,
or his great company so true.
The prophecies of old,
Tell of his return,
From out of Meg Mel,
Resolute and firm.
Now is your time,
Rudraig so brave,
Descendent of Dela,
Arise from the grave.
Arise from the grave,
Saviour of old.
Arise from the grave,
With your warriors so bold.
For then, Ard Ri you shall be,
Honoured at last,
As toward you none dare,
An evil eye cast.