The noble-faced, grey-horsed warrior-band has
not betrayed me.
Alas! for the wonderful yew-forest,[1] that they
should have gone into the abode of clay!
Had they been alive, they would have revenged
their lords;
Had mighty death not intervened, this warrior-
band had not been unavenged by me.
To their very end they were brave; they ever strove
for victory over their foes;
They would still sing a stave—a deep-toned shout,
—they sprang from the race of a noble lord.
That was a joyous, lithe-limbed band to the very
hour when they were slain:
The green-leaved forest has received them—it was
an all-fierce slaughter.
Well-armed Domnall, he of the red draught, he
was the Lugh[2] of the well-accoutred hosts:
By him in the ford—it was doom of death—Congal
the Slender fell.
The three Eoghans, the three Flanns, they were
renowned outlaws;
Four men fell by each of them, it was not a
coward's portion.
Swiftly Cu-Domna reached us, making for his
namesake:
On the hill of the encounter the body of Flann the
Little will be found.
10
