Ne’er could I tell, though always I lived,
Ne’er could I tell the third of his praise.
But sad am I now, after Finn of the Feinn;
Away with the chief, my joy is all fled.
No friends ’mong the great, no courtesy;
No gold, no queen, no princes and chiefs;
Sad am I now, our head ta’en away!
I’m a shaking tree, my leaves all gone;
An empty nut, a reinless horse.
Sad, sad am I, a feeble kern,