thereat, and took to praising Lugaid, and composed the lay:—
'A glorious deed that of yours, Lugaid!
My darling, the hero under whom we march;
The death of our men is loss indeed,
Thrice nine nine have been cut down.
'Thrice nine nine of our champions
Made for the top of the hill (?);
None of them escaped from
The daughter of Dearg of evil purpose.
'There are in the cairn west of the knoll,
The bodies of the men not far distant;
Nine champions, her victims, are
Above her head near her dwelling.
'The woman who slew Eogan Gar,
The son of Oilill, (with) nine nine (others),
O Lugaid, with (?) the half of the host,
Her death by thine hand is great victory.'
A glorious deed.
Lugaid was pleased with this eulogy by Meave. And they departed thence on the morrow for the stronghold of Oilill the Fair at Ath Fen.
(To he continued.)
