O loved by many a British maid! 
O swift as hawks round Gullion’s peak! 
True sons of king, who warriors swayed,
To whom bent chiefs in homage meek.

No vassal look those champions wore;
Full grief is mine that such should die! 
Those sons, whom Cathbad’s daughter bore;
Those props, who Cualgne’s[FN#45] war held high.

[FN#45] Pronounced Kell-ny.

Three bears of might, to war they came;
From Oona’s walls, like lions, burst;
Three hero-chiefs, who loved their fame;
Three sons, on Ulster’s bosom nursed.

Twas Aife[FN#46] reared them; ’neath her yoke
A kingdom bowed, and tribute brought;
They propped the war, when armies broke,
Those foster-sons, whom Scathach[FN#47] taught.

The Three, who once from Bohvan’s skill
All feats have learned that heroes know;
King Usna’s glorious sons! ’tis ill
That these afar from me should go.

That I should live, with Naisi dead,
Let none such shame believe of me;
When Ardan’s life, when Ainnle’s fled,
But short my life I knew would be.

Great Ulster’s king my hand had won;
I left him, Naisi’s love to find;
Till Naisi’s funeral rites be done,
I wait a little while behind.

This widowed life no more I’ll bear;
The Three rejoiced, when toil they faced;
Where’er ’twas found, the war they’d dare,
And proffered fight with joy embraced.

A curse on Cathbad’s wizard spell! 
’Twas Naisi’s death! and I the cause! 
None came to aid that king, who well
To all the world might grant his laws.

[FN#46] Pronounced Eefa.

[FN#47] Pronounced Ska-ha.

O man, who diggest low the grave,
And from my sight my love would hide,
Make wide the tomb; its room I crave,
I come to seek my hero’s side.

Great load of hardship I’d endure with joy,
If yet those heroes my companions were;
No lack of house or fire could then annoy,
No gloom I’d know with them, nor aught of care.

Ah! many a time each shield and guardian spear
To make my couch have piled those noble Three: 
O labouring man, their grave who diggest here,
Their hardened swords above well set should be.

The hounds of all the Three their masters lack,
Their hawks no quarry leave, nor hear their call;
The three are dead, who battle’s line held back
Who learned their skill in Conall Cernach’s hall!

Their hounds I view; from out my heart that sight
Hath struck a groan; behind their leashes trail,
’Twas mine to hold them once, and keep them tight;,
Now slack they lie, and cause me thus to wail.

Oft in the desert I and they have strayed,
Yet never lonely was that desert known
For all the Three a grave to-day is made,
And here I sit, and feel indeed alone.

I gazed on Naisi’s grave, and now am blind,
For naught remains to see; the worst is spent;
My soul must leave me soon, no help I find,
And they are gone, the folk of my lament.