Hidden by the wreaths of smoke,
Hewing through the wall, he broke,
Felling seven, onward sped
Plunging through the lake's reed-bed.
Hiss the waters where he springs,
Hatred's yell again forth rings.
But he throws his mail away,
Dives, and darkness hides his way.
Smiling hears their lessening din;
Onward strides to Ederlinn.
Ages since have passed, yet still
Tales recount his dauntless will.
"Pool of the Iron shirt," thy name
Keeps, in Erse, the hero's fame.
Look you, race of ancient Gael,
Never let such memories fail!
Set them far o'er gems and gold,
For your sons to have and hold.
Steadfast Will its goal shall win.
Fairer e'en than Ederlinn!