I shall not die for thee.
Burnished mail and glittering helms, bright in the sunlight,
Painted shields and the cries of the warriors,
Straight spears and sharpened swords, the rumble of the chariots,
All are hateful to me.
I shall not die for thee.
I shall not die for thee.
To sit and pine for a maiden, and dream of the sadness of willows,
Tasting not of life, eating dust, dreaming of Death
As a hermit, driven mad with love, haunts desolate
Places with none to see.
I shall not die for thee.
I shall not die for thee.
I shall arise, and go into the feast, and sing,
Playing my harp. I shall revel and make merry, eyeing the maidens
straight and tall, with cascading hair.
I shall laugh with the warriors;
Deeply talking with the Bards and Filidhs of matters of importance.
And take my Bard's Seat again.
My hair will be combed by another.
I shall not die for thee.
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