Bright is it here, O plain of Mac ind Oc!
wide is thy road with traffic of hundreds;
thou hast covered many a true prince
of the race of every king that has possessed thee.
Every bright wonder hath adorned thee,
O clear shining plain with scores of hosts,
O lucent land of grass and waggons,
O virgin mead of birds and milking-places!
The house of Mac ind Oc above thy stead,
a royal sod with true hospitality;
there come readily above thy brown stream
hostages from the fairy-hills of all Erin thither.
The daughter of bold Pharaoh lies on thy floor
a kind princess, precious was the diadem;
over her was set the tower in that place,
not sparing was the graving-tool over her head.
I see the clear pool of Fiacc of the warriors
west of thee,—not feeble the deed—
till the day of Doom—mighty boast—
shall he abide on the slope of the royal rath.
Here slept a married pair
after the battle of Mag Tuired yonder,
the great lady and the swart Dagda:
not obscure is their dwelling there.
The Grave of the Matha after his slaying
is plain to see on thee, O Brag, studded with horses:
It was his bone that polluted the sea,
whence pleasant Inber Colptha is named.
The Hide of the Cow of undying Boadan
over the cheek of his yellow-white stone:
the Precinct of the staunch keen warriors
about the eastern level of a noble sanctuary.
At the Grave of the gentle Seagulls
it is there was boasted the deed–
great the feat of pride that assigns
the slaying of Finn to the soldiery of the fierce Luagni.
In thee was born a beguiling boy,
Cellach, who plundered the plain on his track;
it was one able to sustain a household that ruled thee,
and died in thee a death of pride.
O beaked bark of the strong towers,
the sea-tide visits thy stead:
from the days of Crimthand Nia to Niall
thou wast the burying-place of the fair-haired warriors.
Fintan Feradach, of bloody battles,
possessed thy land, the strong prince;
Tuathal Techtmar, lord of our clans,
thy bare sepulchral soil sustains.
Fedelmed the Lawgiver is in thy tale;
he was a warlike wight on every chase;
thou art not unlovely in thy land
thou hidest Conn the just, the hundred-fighter.
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