To me from the chariot of two wheels.
“Bran sees
The number of waves beating across the clear sea:
I myself see in Mag Mon[[157]]
Red-headed flowers without fault.
“Sea-horses glisten in summer
As far as Bran has stretched his glance:
Rivers pour forth a stream of honey
In the land of Manannán son of Lêr.
“The sheen of the main, on which thou art,