And lovelier than the moon upon the sea;
He made for her an army cease to be.’
‘Who bade you tell these things?’ and then she cried
To those about, ‘Beat him with thongs of hide
And drive him from the door.’ And thus it was;
And where her son, Finmole, on the smooth grass
Was driving cattle, came she with swift feet,
And called out to him, ‘Son, it is not meet
That you stay idling here with flocks and herds.’
‘I have long waited, mother, for those words;