And, “’Tis told me,” said Ailill, “that Fraech hath won
A great fame for the feats he in floods hath done: 
Wilt thou enter these streams by our side that run? 
We are longing to see thee swim!”
And said Fraech:  “Is it good then indeed thy stream? 
And said Ailill:  “Of danger no need to dream,
For many a youth from the Connaught Court
In its current hath bathed, and hath swum it in sport,
Nor of any who tried have we heard report
That ill hath been found by him!”

Then Fraech from his body his garments stripped,
And he sprang down the bank, and he swiftly slipped
In the stream:  and the king’s glance fell
On a belt, left by Fraech on the bank; the king
Bent low; in the purse saw his daughter’s ring,
And the shape of the ring could tell. 
“Come hither, O Maev,” Ailill softly cried;
And Queen Maev came up close to her husband’s side
“Dost thou know of that ring?” in the purse she spied
The ring, and she knew it well. 
Then Ailill the ring from the purse withdrew,
And away from the bank the fair gem he threw;
And the ring, flashing bright, through the air far flew,
To be lost in the flood’s swift swell.

And Fraech saw the gem as it brightly flashed,
And a salmon rose high, at the light it dashed,
And, as back in the stream with the ring he splashed,
At the fish went Fraech with a spring: 
By its jole was the salmon secured, and thrown
To a nook in the bank, that by few was known;
And unnoticed he threw it, to none was it shown
As it fell to the earth, with the ring.

And now Fraech from the stream would be going: 
But, “Come not,” said the king, “to us yet: 
Bring a branch from yon rowan-tree, showing
Its fair berries, with water-drops wet.”

Then Fraech, swimming away through the water,
Brake a branch from the dread rowan-tree,
And a sigh came from Ailill’s fair daughter;
“Ah! how lovely he seemeth,” said she.

Fair she found him, swimming
Through that pool so black
Brightly gleamed the berries,
Bound athwart his back.

White and smooth his body,
Bright his glorious hair;
Eyes of perfect greyness,
Face of men most fair: 

Soft his skin, no blemish,
Fault, nor spot it flawed;
Small his chin, and steady,
Brave his brow, and broad.

Straight he seemed, and stainless;
Twixt his throat and chin
Straying scarlet berries
Touched with red his skin.

Oft, that sight recalling,
Findabar would cry: 
“Ne’er was half such beauty,
Naught its third came nigh!”