And, as they went over the heather of Meath, Ferloga the charioteer of Ailill fell into the heather, and he sprang behind Conor who followed after them in his chariot, and he seized Conor by the head.

“I claim a boon from thee if I give thee thy life, O Conor!” said he.

“I choose freely to grant that boon,” said Conor.

“’Tis no great matter,” said Ferloga.  “Take me with thee to Emain Macha, and at each ninth hour let the widows and the growing maidens of Ulster serenade me[FN#18] with the song:  ‘Ferloga is my darling.’”

[FN#18] Literally, “sing me a cepoc,” or a choral song.

And the women were forced to do it; for they dared not to deny him, fearing the wrath of Conor; and at the end of a year Ferloga crossed byAthlone into Connaught, and he took with him two of Conor’s horses bridled with golden reins.

And concerning all this hath it been sung: 

Hear truth, ye lads of Connaught;
No lies your griefs shall fill,
A youth the Boar divided;
The share you had was ill.

Of men thrice fifty fifties
Would win the Ailbe Hound;
In pride of war they struggled,
Small cause for strife they found. 
Yet there came conquering Conor,
And Ailill’s hosts, and Ket;
No law Cuchulain granted,
And brooding Bodb[FN#19] was met.

Dark Durthacht’s son, great Eogan,
Shall find that journey hard;
From east came Congal Aidni,
And Fiaman,[FN#20] sailor bard;
Three sons of Nera, famous
For countless warlike fields;
Three lofty sons of Usnach,
With hard-set cruel shields.

From high Conalad Croghan
Wise Senlaech[FN#21] drave his car;
And Dubhtach[FN#22] came from Emain,
His fame is known afar;
And Illan came, whom glorious
For many a field they hail: 
Loch Sail’s grim chief, Munremur;
Berb Baither, smooth of tale;

[FN#19] Pronounced Bobe, with sound of ‘robe.’

[FN#20] Pronounced Feeman.

[FN#21] Pronounced Senlay, with the light final ch.

[FN#22] Pronounced Doov-ta.

And Celtchar, lord in Ulster;
And Conall’s valour wild;
And Marcan came; and Lugaid
Of three great hounds the child.

Fergus, awaiting the glorious hound,
Spreadeth a cloak o’er his mighty shield,
Shaketh an oak he hath plucked from ground,
Red was the woe the red cloak concealed.

Yonder stood Cethern,[FN#23] of Finntan son,
Holding them back; till six hours had flown
Connaughtmen’s slaughter his hand hath done,
Pass of the ford he hath held alone.

Armies with Feidlim[FN#24] the war sustain,
Laegaire the Triumpher rides on east,
Aed, son of Morna, ye hear complain,
Little his thought is to mourn that beast.

High are the nobles, their deeds show might,
Housefellows fair, and yet hard in fight;
Champions of strength upon clans bring doom,
Great are the captives, and vast the tomb.