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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required In Celtic lore, Lig Na Basate is a dragon that terrorizes Ireland. Through the rough and rugged bramble Lig Na Basate was boldly sought, By a band of hardy hunters who cared not of the danger t’was fraught. The Lig Na Basate had killed three hundred men and wounded two hundred more, And the only way to stop the beast was to pierce him at the core. Turn away ye wee small men lest the beast come pick your bones, Return to your loving kin and hearth and start to rebuild your homes. Pray then that the Lig Na Basate has moved on to other hunting grounds, But wait, too late for now they hear the burble of the beastie’s sounds. Then there at the edge of the wooded glade they saw their quarry sleeping. And silently the four brave men drew near as they were creeping. Then with a snort the terrible head was lifted into the air. And sniffed at the scent with dreadful intent until he found them skulking there. The four brave men with lance in hand Stood north, south, east and west. In hopes that one would find the mark and send the beast to its final rest. Ne’er had the beast encountered such men who showed no concern towards death. Yet no pity would he ere afford as they met with the heat of his breath. With dodge and thrust they went about, looking for a spot. To drive home a deadly lance, before he killed off the lot. And quick the battle was enjoined, with blood and spit and sweat. In hopes that one day their victory, would outlive their regret. The beast grabbed one valiant man and snapped him at his back. Then ate one more while the other two continued on with the attack. The Lig Na Basate swung round to slice them with his tail. But a lance pierced his wicked eye, and he let out a ferocious wail. He turned his head to gasp the pike that had nearly left him blind. Exposing his own naked throat to the two men from behind A plunge by one and the next a gurgle of blood the only sound. The beast turned to face the men but with a tilt he hit the ground. The scales of the mighty dragon became the armor of the brave. And the teeth were buried with the dead inside their hero’s grave. And still the tale is often told of the beastie and his demise, And in the great hall still hangs his head as the victor’s well earned prize.
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