Ancient Irish poem: The arrows that murder sleep

The arrows that murder sleep,
at every hour in the cold night,
are love-lamenting, by reason of times spent, after day,
in the company of one from beside the land of Roigne.

Great love for a man of another land
who excelled his peers has taken my bloom
(little color is left);
it allows me no sleep....

Sweeter than all songs was his speech...
glorious flame without a word of boasting.
Slender soft-sided mate....

I have everything good with Gúaire, the king of cold Aidne;
but my mind seeks to go from my people
to the land which is in Irlúachair.

In the land of glorious Aidne,
around the sides of Cell Cholmáin,
men sing of a glorious flame, from the south of Limerick of the graves,
whose name is Dínertach.

His grievous death, holy Christ, torments my kindly heart:
these are the arrows that murder sleep
at every hour in the cold night.

   --Anonymous, Ireland ca 800 A.D. [said to be the lament of Créide, daughter of Gúaire of Aidne, for Dínertach, son of Gúaire of the Ui Fhidgente]. Translated by Gerard Murphy

It é saigte gona súain,
cech thrátha i n-aidchi adúair,
serccoí, lia gnása, íar ndé,
fir a tóeb thíre Roigne.

Rográd fir ala thíre
ro-shíacht sech a chomdíne
ruc mo lí (ní lór do dath);
ním-léci do thindabrad.

Binniu laídib a labrad
acht Ríg nime nóebadrad:
án bréo cen bréthir mbraise,
céle tana tóebthaise.

Imsa naídiu robsa náir:
ní bínn fri dúla dodáil;
ó do-lod i n-inderb n-aís
rom-gab mo théte togaís.

Táchum cech maith la Gúaire,
la ríg nAidni adúaire;
tocair mo menma óm thúathaib
isin íath i nIrlúachair.

Canair i n-íath Aidni áin,
im thóebu Cille Colmáin,
án bréo des Luimnech lechtach
díanid comainm Dínertach.

Cráidid mo chride cainech,
a Chríst cáid, a fhoraided:
it é saigte gona súain
cech thrátha i n-aidchi adúair.