The Curse of Cairbre mac Eádaoine the Bard

Olivia Myers

1 The bard blew in on the skirt of storm cloud

Hungry, weak, footsore and cold

The bard blew in a weary traveler

Into the keep of a dark hold

Such a blessing to stand by the fire, finding wealth and food within

But this was the court  of Bres Mac Eladain

And no such things were to be seen

2 The bard was taken to a high throne

On it sat a haughty man

The bard gave thanks for his welcome

His purpose there the king demanded

3 “Mighty Lord I come to tell tales

For my food and for my keep

Mighty Lord I will sing you songs

For a bite and place to sleep

4 Is that all that you have to give?

Scraps of story and of song?

Then I will house you and will feed you

As your wears earn you before long

5 The bard was taken to an old hut

That was narrow, dark, and dim

neither fire, nor bath, nor bed there

And on three dry cakes the bard was fed

6The bard rolled and tossed away that dark night

He had no sleep and belly pains

In the morning he strode to the court

And looked on the king with disdain

7For kindness from a king of the land

These are the words I do give you

The fate of your rule and kingdom

All hear these verses of Bres Mac Eladain

8Without food upon your  platter,
Without  cow’s milk whereon calf thrives,
Without a house in the deep darkness,
Be that the luck of Bres Mac Eladain”

9The bard swept away in a flap of cloaktails

“Bres’s wealth will fail”, he said

And as the bard said, it was so

Bres  was soon without milk and bread

10Now you know, and now remember

Never  fail in your lands

Never slight the weary traveler

Never hold back the generous hands