The following is an account of the life of Lugh of the Long Arm. In Irish mythology this man is the savior of the people of Danaa, the true rulers of Ireland. This story covers Lughs origin as son of Kian, the sun god, and the battle between the people of Danaa and their oppressors the Fomorians. This particular text was found inscribed in a cliff face of the western coast of Ireland. Battered by wind and waves, the text was hard to transcribe. The order of the story is as follows : Intro to the epic, the origins of Lugh, his time in the palace of Nuada of the Silver hand and cultivates in the battle between the people of Danaa and the Fomorians in which the evil king Balor is finally slain.
from their mothers breast
untimely ripped, by the hand
of the one whose legacy
preserved by this heinous act
Balor, king of those evil peoples
the Fomorians whose darkness
covers all of Ireland
ne’er letting a drop of light through.
But o, what luck is this
that all seeing druidess
Birog snatched from the surf
the infant Lugh, the savior of Ireland.
For the origins of our hero true
we look to a tower, a jealous king,
and the theft of a calf
that one belonging to the sun king.
For once Balor, that evil man,
heard of his foretold demise
by the hand of a grandson,
he locked his infant daughter
Ethlinn, that maiden fair,
in the tallest tower
out in the middle of nowhere
his plan foolproof,
his life secured,
Balor continued to rule without remorse
but he, that evil king,
fell victim to greed, that fatal flaw
when he eyed the calf
of that sun god
Kian, the one who bears the light,
held prized his calf
ne’er letting it out of his sight.
One fateful day, while three brothers bickered,
that prized calf, yes, the sun gods own
was spirited away
Balor, disguised as a little boy,
did steal from the king of the sun.
looking to reclaim what was stole from him
Kian comes across the tower
where Ethlinn is held.
Aided by that magical druidess Birog
Kian steals to the bedchamber
of that maiden fair
to fulfill the prophecy spoke long ago,
“Balor will not be slain by foe,
but rather kin, a grandson
who he will never know”
The seasons change and soon
fair Ethlinn, maiden no more,
bears three sons.
Learning of the babes, the king orders them
ripped from her breast and thrown from the sea.
Balor, that patricide complete
goes off to rule once more assured of his peace.
But o, that fair, that great druidess
Birog had other plans
she who uttered the prophecy
was determined to see it through till the very end
plucking that infant Lugh from the surf
Birog spirited him away
to learn the trade of his uncle
Goba the Smith.
Under the tutelage of his uncle
and his father, Kian the sun,
Lugh grows into a man unmatched
in all of Ireland.
Learned of all the great skills,
Lugh was sent to the palace of Tara
to work in service of Nuada of the silver hand.
Reaching the doors of that great place,
the hero Lugh was halted.
That doorkeeper, the highly regarded man
questioned his skills
“of what are you capable?”
“I am a carpenter sir,
I fashion wood into carvings, statues, and more”
the doorkeeper looked down
at the heroes face,
“we’ve no need for you here, find another place.”
“but doorkeeper,” the young hero said
“do not turn me away so soon, I am a smith too.
I have skill in the forge fashioning weapons and swords”
“boy” said the doorkeeper, “as I’ve told you before,
we’ve no need for you here. We have a smith.
We do not need one more.”
At this the hero began to take fright
his father had led him to this place,
could it not be right?
Refusing to turn back,
the hero Lugh tried again to gain entrance
into the palace of Nuada, the one of the silver hand.
“Listen to me once more I plead with you sir,
you say you have a carpenter, a smith too,
but have you a warrior?”
The doorkeeper looks down
“Boy, give up your quest
the greatest warrior in the land rests in this palace.
We’ve no need for you here”
Turning to close to heavy iron door,
the man looks back once more,
“have you any other skills?
Perchance you’ll find a place here.”
filled up with hope the young man
lists each of those arts that he has mastery in
“I am an artist, a poet, a harper, a bard,
a healer, a spencer.”
The doorkeeper simply shakes his head
“boy we already have the most accomplished artists in all the land.
How are you to compare to the great warrior Ogma
or the most accomplished poet in the court of Nuada?”
“Just give me one more chance.
Go in, ask that king if he knows any man
accomplished in all these arts. If so, I will be on my way.
If not, perchance he will let me stay.”
The king searches for three days
to find a man as accomplished as that stranger at his gate.
Finding none to match the skill of young Lugh,
the hero was welcomed through the gates
into the place of Nuada of the Silver hand.
It soon came to pass that the elders of Ireland
weary of the Fomoroians tyranny
called to that young man, Lugh of the Long Arm
to fight in battle for them.
One day, the one in which their payment was due,
the chiefs of Danaa gathered to get council from Lugh
“Oh what are we to do? These peoples, these Fomorians
do take our wealth our land and our health.
Help us Lugh you’re our only hope.”
The hero, no longer a young man, fashioned a plan.
Instead of paying the tribute
like they’d done so many times before,
the chiefs were to fight, to pick up their powerful swords.
At last the day of the battle came.
The Fomorians, those evil peoples,
came to take the wealth of the Danaans
those people of good, those people of light.
Instead of a cowering chief,
they were met with an envoy of swords.
Soon all lay slain, but nine escaped,
reported to their king, Balor of the Evil Eye
all that had happened and all they had seen.
“A man, one whom on ne’er we laid eyes
led a charge and now your men, dead they lie.
With the strength of a bull and the speed of a steed
he did slay all those who dared to fight.
Since that dreadful day
we heard rumors of his might,
Lugh of the Long Arm they call him
for his sword is quite a sight.”
That king, that evil man,
did thunder and roar at the news
that power he had no more.
“Lugh of the Long arm ye say,
this man who dare to take my money
who dare to attack my men
he will regret ever laying a hand against the Fomorians.”
The king then called for his sword
“Get ready for battle, bring in all the ships,
slaughter the cattle and prepare to defeat
those peoples led by that hero Lugh
the Danaans they are now, dead they will be soon.”
Soon the very ground cried out for war,
rumbles of battle were on every shore.
Lugh noticed the stirrings and prepared his men.
In an omitted section, Lugh goes out to find magical instruments essential for the defeat of Balor.
While he’s passing a spot of rock, the stones cry out with his fathers blood. Kian, the sun god, had been murdered by three brothers. Wanting retribution for this heinous act, Lugh sends the three on an series of quests to gather impossible items (much like the 12 labors of Heracles)
The story resumes with the long awaited battle between the Fomorians and the people of Danaa.
On that fateful day
the people of Danaa gathered on the plains of Mortya
determined to face down their foe.
The brave hero Lugh rallies the peoples
the warriors and speaks of their great foe.
“Men, we have lived under their tyranny for too long.
How many of you have lost daughters, have lost sons
to those evil peoples these Fomorians?
No longer will we sit under their evil hand.
No longer will we let them rape our land.
No longer will we let them reign over all of Ireland.”
At this the warriors gave up a great shout.
They charged into battle assured of their victory
For two long weeks they toiled,
for two long weeks they bled
those people the light of Ireland.
At this point the text becomes distorted.
Goban the Smith, that wondrous man
along with the most talented smiths in all of Ireland
repaired weapons with the speed of swallows
those fast strong african swallows.
As men bled out on the battlefield,
the people of Danaa pulled out
they pushed back those Fomorians
gained more and more ground.
Oh what a happy sight!
Oh what a happy sound that clashing of sword upon sword!
Victory for the Danaans seemed assured.
But O, the Fomorians had tricks of their own.
Their king they brought out to stare at their enemies,
those people of Danaa.
Balor of the Evil Eye
was named such because his gaze
had a lethal, a deadly tone.
The eye on the left had power to kill
held venom in it’s gaze.
When Balor was wheeled out on the battlefield,
his attendants lifted up his eyelid,
he was an old man you see and the
eyelid dropped ever so slightly,
and Danaan warriors begin to fall
Those people, the light of Ireland
became smothered by the king of darkness.
Among those who fell was that great man,
that Nuada of the Silver Hand.
Alas, the king of the Danaan people fought no more
if not for Lugh of the Long Arm, what a man, what a sight
all would have been lost in the battle for Ireland.
That warrior, that clever Lugh
found a way to win the fight.
With the eyelid of Balor dropped ever so slightly
Lugh picked up a bolder, that man strong as an ox
and threw landing right in that Evil Eye that cause of such death
The stones throw was true
so there Balor fell, the king of the Fomorians
that evil man, lay dead on the field
slain by the hand of his grandson.
Lugh, hero of Ireland slaid that great beast
and fulfilled a long ago spoke prophecy
Hail Lugh of the Long Arm,
Hero of Ireland!
At this point the text ends. Popular Mythic tradition holds that after his great success in battle, Lugh became king of Ireland. He enjoyed a peaceful reign of 20 years and is held as a deity in the Irish Mythic Canon.