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!”

To the bank he swam, and to Ailill was thrown, with its berries, the tree’s torn limb:  “Ah! how heavy and fair have those clusters grown; bring us more,” and he turned to swim; The mid-current was reached, but the dragon was roused that was guard to that rowan-tree; And it rose from the river, on Fraech it rushed:  “Throw a sword from the bank!” cried he.  And no man on the bank gave the sword:  they were kept by their fear of the queen and the king; But her clothes from her Finnabar stripped, and she leapt in the river his sword to bring.  And the king from above hurled his five-barbed spear; the full length of a shot it sped:  At his daughter it flew, and its edge shore through two tresses that crowned her head:  And Fraech in his hand caught the spear as it fell, and backward its point he turned.  And again to the land was the spear launched well:  ’twas a feat from the champions learned.  Though the beast bit his side as that spear was cast, yet fiercely the dart was flung, Through the purple robe of the king it passed, through the tunic that next him clung!

Then up sprang the youths of the court, their lord in danger they well might deem, But the strong hand of Fraech had closed firm on the sword, and Finnabar rose from the stream.  Now with sword in his hand, at the monster’s head hewed Fraech, on its side it sank, And he came from the river with blade stained red, and the monster he dragged to the bank.  Twas then Bree’s Dub-lind in the Connaught land the Dark Water of Fraech was named, From that fight was it called, but the queen and the king went back to their dun, ashamed!

“It is noble, this deed we have done!” said Maev:  “’Tis pitiful,” Ailill cried:  “For the hurt of the man I repent, but to her, our daughter, shall woe betide!  On the morrow her lips shall be pale, and none shall be found to aver that her guilt, When the sword for his succour to Fraech she gave, was the cause why her life was spilt!  Now see that a bath of fresh bacon broth be prepared that shall heal this prince, And bid them with adze and with axe the flesh of a heifer full small to mince:  Let the meat be all thrown in the bath, and there for healing let Fraech be laid!” And all that he ordered was done with care; the queen his command obeyed.

Then arose from Fraech’s trumpets complaining,
As his men travelled back to the dun;
Their soft notes lamentation sustaining,
And a many their deaths from them won;