To urge the quest, we then decree,
Of Finn and his hounds the joyous three
That still to triumph led;
And soon from Almhuin’s halls away,
With Caoilte, I, and our dark array,
North to Slew Guillin sped.
There, as with searching glance the eye
O’er all the prospect rolled,
Beside the lake a wretch we spy,
Poor, withered, grey, and old.