A fairy host came as a blast
To bring destruction to our house:
Though bloodless was their taking off,
Yet dire as slaughter by the sword.
Woe for our wife, woe for our young!
The sadness of our grief is great:
No trace of them within, without—
And therefore is my heart so sad.
CORMAC MAC CULENNAIN SANG THIS
Shall I launch my dusky little coracle
On the broad-bosomed glorious ocean?
Shall I go, O King of bright Heaven,
Of my own will upon the brine?
Whether it be roomy or narrow,
Whether it be served by crowds of hosts—
O God, wilt Thou stand by me
When it comes upon the angry sea?