“Let my curse take thee, bald-headed Conan,”
Said Fergus of gentlest face;
“I will go, but ’tis not at thy voice,
To get word from this Lochlin race.”
Young Fergus, all armed, went off
Those heroes to meet on the way;
He mildly inquired, “What people
Came over the sea that day?”
Magnus, all bloody and fierce,
Son of the red-shielded Bede,