I've just been translating some of Nostradamus' quatrains and came across this:
Century XXIV
29
When the Kilrea man will give way to none,
With wish to abandon the villans chalice;
Americans will panic in the last glows of summer,
And a Gallic ruler will take the throne.
30
A night encounter with opponents blue,
Will leave the bitter taste of defeat;
The cup no more, the battle lost,
The fleet return to lick their wounds.
31
More grief will come in the once strong land,
And the ugly one will claim victors spoils;
A visit to the Northern lands,
Capitulate as 13 strikes.
32
And the holders of the golden keys;
The chosen ones in the battle dress,
Will throw down their weapons in despair,
And Gerard will be left to fight alone.
33
By night will come the sound of scribes,
Wailing and revenge and plans of protest,
A divided army with no real faith:
The ghost of McGregor looks down in pain.
34
Division reigns and stories abound,
Of monied men in golden towers;
But the Gaul will not bow down to them,
And releases his hounds of hell.
35
The ragged army goes forth,
At the turning of the year;
Expectation of oblivion and numbers high,
A shining light is then revealed.
36
No more thought of leaders past,
Of eyes of four and celtic voice;
Or loss in drab sties and hovels grim.
A wave farewell to the alliance again.
37
On the Festival of Matthias the Apostle,
The silver will be adorned by ribbons claret;
Hoisted aloft by the Slav,
A new decade for the proudest ones.
