Like the moon, like the sun, like a fiery beacon was the splendour of Niall:
Like a dragon-ship from the wave without a flaw was Niall, Echu's son.
Tuirn son of Torna
This is a yearnful music, the wail of every mouth in Kerry—
It increases my grief in my house for the death of Muredach's[17] grandson.
Saxons will ravage here in the east, noble men of Erin and Alba,
After the death of Niall, Echu's noble son—it is a bitter cause of reproach.
Torna
Saxons with overwhelming cries of war, hosts of Lombards from the continent,
From the hour in which the king fell Gael and Pict are in a sore straight.
Tuirn son of Torna
Upon Tara's rampart his fair hair shone against his ruddy face:
Like unto the colour of his hair is red gold or the yellow iris.
Torna
'Twas great delight, 'twas great peace to be in the company of my dear foster-son,[18]
When with Echu's son—it was no small thing—we used to go to the gathering.