The warrior sank in a bloody grave.
When haughty Dearg advanced in pride
With his shields of gold o’er Lochlin’s tide,
Why lingered then thy cloud-borne Lord
To save our host from his slaughtering sword?
Oh! glorious deeds arise in crowds,
Of the gallant Fenian band;
But what is achieved by thy King of the clouds—
Where reddened he his hand?[2]
PATRICK.