The Fir Bolg According to ancient Irish legend, a man named Nemed once settled Ireland. When he left, two branches of his descendants later returned: the Fir Bolg, and then later the Tuatha De Danaan, who conquered the Fir Bolg at the first battle of Moy Tura. When the Miletians, the current Irish, came and conquered the De Danaan and forced them into faerie-mounds and other haunts of the Sidhe, several tribes of the Fir Bolg remained, and lasted into periods times. How old we were when day was young and this was yet to be! We're Nemed's sons and daughters dark, the cousins of the Shi-- When lands you rule were not yet yours but governed by the elves, The hollow glens and hidden groves were tended by our selves. When Nemed's folk were plague-beset and forced to leave this land, We were the first to sail back here and till it with our hand; But younger cousins came to us and brought with them the sword-- They conquered us and set us low and made the law their word. Moy Tura's battle was the first where kind of ours we fought; Their incantations spelled our fate no matter where we sought. For aid against their mist-borne ships that made us look askance; Crom Cruach did not answer us when bloody rites we danced. When once again our elvish cousins warred against a foe, Moy Tura saw the Formor host fall under sword and woe. We were not there, but tended pigs, our cousins called us not Our younger kin had made us slaves and left us when they fought. They triumphed o'er their hell-spawned foe and Balor's Evil Eye, And set us once again to work at cleaning fold and sty. But Mille's sons sailed over the plain Manannan's sea steeds tread, And Amergin set songs against our cousin's mystic dread. Our cousins fell beneath these words that Mille's sons had brought, And all their eldritch wizardry when crossed with steel meant noght; For Mille's sons had brought with them the iron-monger's trade: Our elvish cousins could not stand the touch of such a blade. Now Mille's sons are mortal men much like unto ourselves; They do not deal with wizardry but leave that to the elves. But slaves we stay and tending pigs we wait in silence still-- For Mille's sons will meet their fate in this the land we till... copyright 31 May 1988 (AS XXIII), by Earle B. 'Glas' Durboraw