Research a particular Druid. This could be one from the pages of ancient history, such as Divitiacus; or one from myth such as Cathbad; or one from relatively recent history such as Dr William Price; or even one that is still living (though it might be wise to draw the line at Getafix). Having found out as much as you can about their life and what thoughts they may have left to posterity, meditate upon them ~ what sort of person do they feel like, what impact did they have in their own day, what lessons to you draw from them now?
Bé Chuille and Dianann were sisters, daughters of the woodland Goddess Flidais, and were known to be Druidesses and corceresses. They were also sister to Bé Téite and there is evidence that they are also possibly sisters to Fand, the wife of Manannán Mac
It is said that the sisters aided in the battles of Mag Tuired, when they were fighting against the Firbolgs along with aiding Tuatha Dé Danann against the Fomorians. It is also said that Dé Damnann killed Dianann at this point in time.
Bé Chuille was gifted with the powers of divination and foretold the number of Danann who would die during the battle against the Liesians.
I feel that these two druids were stong leaders, did what they felt they needed to do but were caring and kind. I think that we need more people like this now when there is so much dispair in the world. More like this, walking among us, could maybe get this world to start healing. As Goddesses, I am thankful that I can depend on these to to help when called by me and I am sure many others are also.
There are several stories or myths about the two that I have decided to include here also for you to read. Enjoy.
The Second Battle of Magh Tuiredh
The Tuatha Dé had defeated the Fir Bolg at the first Battle of Magh Tuiredh and driven them to the West of Ireland. They did not enjoy precedence for long. Soon they had to do battle with the Fomhoire (The Fomorians) who lived on the western most islands and were also very powerful in magic.
During the first battle of Magh Tuiredh, Nuada the King had lost his arm and so according to ancient custom he had to stand down as ruler as defects were not allowed in sovereigns. Bres (The Beautiful) whose father Elatha was a king of the Fomhoire but who was raised among his mother's kin the Tuatha Dé, was chosen in his stead. Soon the rule of Bres however became oppressive and the country fell in thrall to the people of the Fomhoire. The Dagda was reduced to digging and building a fort for Bres and Oghma was reduced to fetching firewood. Moreover Bres lacked what is the mark of every true king namely generosity.
The chieftains of the Tuatha Dé complained that 'their knives were not greased by him and however often they visited him their breaths did not smell of ale' There was no entertainment for them in the royal household, no poets, musicians, acrobats or buffoons. In the end retribution was hastened by a poet's verses.
When Coirbre the poet of the Tuatha Dé was received by Bres with scant hospitality he retaliated with magic tipped satire, (the first that was made in Ireland) and nothing but decay was on Bres from that hour.
The chieftains of the Tuatha Dé demanded that he renounce his kingship. So he went out to muster an army of the Fomhoire to support him.
In the meantime Nuada had been fitted with a silver arm by Dian Cécht the physician and was reinstated in the sovereignty and from that time forward he was known as Nuada Lámhairgid (of the Silver Arm). Then Lugh the long-handed arrived on the scene and as soon as Nuada had proof of his technical abilities he relinquished the throne to Lugh in the hope that he would lead the Tuatha Dé to victory against the Fomhoire.
Under Lugh's leadership preparations are got underway and each of the craftsmen and magicians of the Tuatha Dé promises his own special contribution. The craftsmen fashion wondrous weapons. The sorcerers hurl the mountains of Ireland on the Fomhoire. The cupbearer's conceal from them the waters of Ireland's lakes and streams. The druids cast down on them showers of fire, and deprive them of two-thirds of their strength and courage, and bind in their bodies the urine of men and horses.
Once the battle was joined in earnest there was great slaughter on both sides. The slain of the Fomhoire remained so, but those of the Tuatha Dé were cast into a well over which Dian Cécht and his three children sang spells and by its magic they were restored to life. Lugh also used his powers, moving around his army on one foot and with one eye he chanted an incantation to lend them strength and courage. He thus assumed the traditional posture of the sorcerer and one which was attributed to the Fomhoire.
He then had to face the dreaded Balor of the Evil Eye. Balor's eye was such that he needed four men to raise the lid of it and when uncovered its venomous gaze could disable an army. As soon as Lugh saw the eye open against him he cast a sling-stone which drove it through to the back of Balor's head so that it wrought destruction on his own followers.
The Fomhoire were routed and expelled forever from Ireland. Bres was captured and sought to save his life by promising first that the cattle in Ireland should always be in milk, and secondly that there should be a harvest in every quarter of the year. Both offers were rejected but he was finally spared in return for advice on the proper times for ploughing, sowing and reaping.
With that the Tuatha Dé prospered in Ireland for many years to come and wanted for nothing.
Bres Mac Elatha and the Tuatha Dé Danann
One day Ériu of the Tuatha Dé Danann was looking from her house out to sea, and she saw that it was as flat as a plank and without movement. Then a vessel of silver appeared to her, its size was very large but the shape of it was blurred, and the flow of the tide brought it to land. In it was the handsomest man, with golden hair to his shoulders, and a shirt and a cloak trimmed with gold. A brooch of gold was on his breast, five golden rings about his neck, a sword with inlays at his belt, and a pair of shining spears in the grip of his hand.
'A fine time for love-making,' said the man.
'I've made no tryst with you,' she replied.
'What need for a tryst?' said he.
So they stretched themselves down together. When the man rose, the woman wept.
'Why the tears?' he asked.
'I cry for two things,' she said, 'Firstly, that you possess me now, though the youth of the Tuatha Dé have entreated me in vain. Secondly that you are leaving.'
He drew a gold ring from his middle finger and put it into her hand saying, 'Part not with it either by sale or gift, except to one whose finger it will fit.'
'Another sorrow have I,' she said 'for I do not know who has come to me.'
'No reason for ignorance there,' he replied. 'Elatha, king of the Fomorians, has lain with you. You will bear a son and let his name be Eochu Bres, that is 'Eochu the Beautiful'. Every lovely thing to be seen in Ireland, field or fortress, ale or candle, woman or man or horse - will be judged by him, so people will say "it is a Bres."'
In time she gave birth to a boy and he was named as Elatha had said. In seven days he had made two weeks growth, and in seven years he had the growth of fourteen summers. And when the contention arose between the Tuatha Dé Danann as to who should be king because of the wounding of Nuada - he being no longer whole; They chose Bres thinking he would bring lasting peace between the Tuatha Dé and the Fomorians. His mother Ériu gave him land and the fort of Dun Brese was built on that land.
But after Bres was made king, three Fomorian kings put Ireland under tribute so that there was not smoke from the roof that was not taxed. Even the champions of Ireland were pressed into service. Oghma was forced to carry firewood, and Dagda had to build ramparts and dig trenches around the fort of Bres and it was the Dagda who built it all.
Soon Dagda was not happy with this degrading work. He would meet in the house of an old satirist named Cridenbel the Blind whose mouth grew out of his chest. Cridenbel thought his own portion was small in comparison with Dagda's and he begged 'O, Dagda on your honour, give me the three best bits of your meal!' Now a champion cannot refuse a request made on his honour and so Dagda gave a third of his meal to Cridenbel each night. But large indeed were the portions given to Cridenbel, each piece being the size of a good pig. And the appearance of Dagda was the worse for that.
One day Dagda was in the trench when he saw Mac Óg coming towards him.
'Very Good, O Dagda,' said Mac Óg.
'Even so,' said Dagda.
'But you have a bad look about you.'
'I have good reason,' replied the Dagda. 'Cridenbel the satirist, takes the three best bits of my meal every night.'
'It will not last,' said Mac Óg. 'Soon you will finish your work, but seek no payment until the cattle of Ireland are brought to you. Then choose the dark, black-maned, lively heifer.'
When the work was finished and Bres offered a payment, Dagda asked for a heifer, which seemed a foolish choice to Bres. He thought Dagda would have chosen something more.
All this time that Bres held the kingship, there was murmuring against him among the Tuatha Dé Danann, for their knives were not greased by him, and however often they visited him their breaths did not smell of ale. And there was no entertainment in the household from either poet or bard or satirist or harper or piper or hornblower or juggler or jester. They saw no races, no sporting contest, and only Oghma was there to prove his skill before the king. Yet his poor duty was only this: to bring the firewood to the fort. Each day he carried a bundle from the islands of Clew Bay, but the sea snatched two-thirds of his load, because he was weak for lack of food.
On a certain day Cairpre, poet of the Tuatha Dé Danann, came in his travels to the house of Bres. He entered a narrow, black, dark little house, with neither fire nor chair nor bed in it. Three small cakes he was given, and they were dry. On the morrow he arose, and he was not thankful. As he crossed the threshold he made this magical curse:
'Without food quickly on a dish,
Without cow's milk for a calf to grow on,
Without a man's abode under the dark of night,
Without pay for a company of storytellers -
Let that be Bres's condition.
'There's no prosperity in Bres,' he added, and that was true. There was blight on him from that hour. And this is the first poetical curse made in Ireland.
After this the Tuatha Dé met together to talk with their foster son Bres. It was agreed that he might remain king for seven years, so long as he gave proper sureties. As he was not willing to give up his kingship, Bres made this delay so that he might gather the magical warriors of the Fomorians and seize the Tuatha Dé by force.
Then he went to his mother and asked where his family was. 'I am certain about that,' said she and she gave him the ring that Elatha had left her. He put it on his middle finger and it fitted him perfectly.
Together they went to the lands of the Fomorians. The people there as was the custom put them to the test, making races and fighting in sword-play. When the dogs raced the hounds of Bres were faster, and his horses were faster too than those of the Fomorians. Then they came to sword-play. But as Bres lifted his arm to strike, Elatha recognized the ring on his finger and asked who he was, and Ériu told the whole story of his birth.
His father was sad for him, and asked 'What need brings you here from the land you ruled?'
'Nothing,' said Bres, 'but my own injustice and pride. I took their jewels and their land and their food. Until this time none had taken from them tributes or payments.' 'That is bad for the telling' said his father. 'Better their prosperity than your kingship. Better their prayers than curses. Why have you come here?'
'To ask for soldiers since I mean to keep the land by force.'
'Gain it by justice only.'
'Well then, here's a question what advice do you give me?' asked Bres.
But Elatha would not help him and sent him instead to Balor, king of the Hebrides and to Indech, one of the other kings of the Fomorians. And these kings gathered all the forces from Lochlann westward to Ireland, to impose tribute and rule by force, and they made a single bridge of ships from the Hebrides to Ireland. No host ever came to Ireland that was more terrifying than these warriors.
After Bres had departed to the Fomorians. Nuada was once more re-instated as king of the Tuatha Dé, for he had been fitted with a silver arm by Dian Cécht which was as good as any other and he was once more a whole man. So in celebration Nuada held a great feast at Tara for the Tuatha Dé Danann. And there came before the doorkeepers of Tara a warrior and a company of strangers, led by a handsome sturdy fellow with a king's diadem on his head.
'Who is there?' the doorkeepers asked the leader.
'And what is your art, no one without skill enters Tara' said the doorkeepers.
'You question me, who was named Samildánach?' asked the warrior incredulously.
'Well,' replied the doorkeepers 'speak on.'
'I am a builder, I am a smith, I am a champion, I am a harper, I am a soldier, I am a poet, I am a sorcerer.' said Lugh.
'We have a representation of all those skills and need no more' said the doorkeepers 'as for sorcerers, our druids and magicians and witches are as many as the sands on the beach.'
'I will speak further,' went on Samildánach. 'I am a physician, I am a cupbearer, I am a metalworker. Ho! doorman ask the king if he has anyone with as many arts and skills as I have. If he has I will not enter Tara.'
One of the doorkeepers went to Nuada and said, 'The warrior Samildánach has come to court. He practices all the arts and is master of every skill.'
Then the courtiers brought out the chess-boards of Tara, and Samildánach won every game. When all this was told to the king, he said 'Let him enter, for never before has a man like him come to our fort.'
And Samildánach went into the hall and sat in the seat of the wise man for he was wise in every art. And in the evening he played on the harp, playing the music of sleep and lulling the king and the court into sleep from that time until the same time next day.
When he saw this man's many powers, Nuada wondered if he might protect them from the Fomorians. So the Tuatha Dé held a council, and the next day Nuada spoke with Oghma and Dagda on Girley Hill, and the king summoned also his two kinsmen Dian Cécht and Goibniu. A full year they spent in close discussion, and then the druids of Ireland were called together, with their doctors and charioteers and smiths and landowners and lawgivers. They all spoke together secretly.
'What is your accomplishment?' the king asked Mathgen, the sorcerer, and Mathgen answered that he would shake the mountains of Ireland under the Fomorians until their summits fell to the ground. Then it would seem as if the twelve chief mountains of Ireland were fighting for the Tuatha Dé Danann.
'And I will rain three showers of fire onto the faces of the Fomorians' said the druid Figol 'Also I will take out of them two-thirds of their courage and skill and strength and I will block up the bladders in their bodies and in the bodies of their horses. And the courage of the men of Ireland will increase with every breath even if they fight for seven years they will not get tired.'
Then Dagda said 'That power that you boast, I'll wield it all by myself.' And so they all prepared for battle. Lugh, and Dagda and Oghma went to the three gods of Danu and they gave Lugh his weapons, which they had been making ready for seven years. At last everything was in place and the Tuatha heard the cry of Morrigan.
'Stir yourselves' said the blood-thirsty war monger. 'Go onwards and fight!'
And the druids answered at once 'Yes we will go to war!'
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The Fomorians advanced to Scetne. The men of Ireland were in Magh Aurfolaig. The two armies were threatening battle. 'Those Irish have a determined look,' said Bres, 'I expect they mean to fight.'
'We'll give them blow for blow' said the Fomorian king, 'so their bones will be crushed small if they don't pay tribute.'
The men of Ireland had agreed to keep Lugh from the battle as they feared his early death and the loss of all his many skills. Nine foster fathers were sent to guard him. When the guards and the chiefs of the Tuatha Dé Danann were around him, Lugh asked the smith Goibniu, 'What is the extent of your power?'
'Not hard to say,' replied Goibniu. 'Though the fight be for seven years, every splintered spear, every broken sword shall be mended by me. My forged spearpoints will not miss their mark. The skins they pierce will not taste life afterwards. Dolb the Fomorian smith cannot do as much. I am prepared for this second battle at Moytura.'
'And you physician Dian Cécht,' asked Lugh 'what is your talent?'
'Not hard to say said he. 'Any of our wounded, unless his head be off, or his brain struck open, I will make him perfectly whole by the next day.'
'And you Oghma, champion warrior,' said Lugh, 'what is your specialty?'
'Not hard to say,' said he. 'Neither the king nor twenty seven of his friends will be a match for me, I will win a third of the battle for the men of Ireland.'
'And you Morrigan, Battle Hag, what is your power?'
'Not hard to say' said she. 'I shall stand fast. I shall destroy those I have my eye on'
'And you Cairpre the poet, what can you do in battle?'
'I will make a metrical malediction against them. I will name and shame them, so by my spell they will offer no fight.'
'Not hard to say' they replied. 'We will bewitch the trees and the stones and the sods of the earth so that they will appear like an army against them. And they will scatter in flight, terrified and trembling.'
'And you Dagda, what power can you use against the army of the Fomorians?'
'Not hard to say,' said the Dagda 'I will lay waste with heavy smiting and destruction and wizardry. Their bones under my club will be like hailstones under the hooves of horses.'
Thus the battle ranks were drawn up, between fierce and proud warriors.
Then the Fomorians marched out of their camp in strong indestructible battalions. There was not a soldier among them without armour against his skin, a helmet on his head, a broad spear in his hand, a sharp sword on his belt, a heavy shield on his shoulder. To attack them that day was like striking a head against a cliff, or putting a hand in a nest of vipers, or thrusting a face into the fire.
Balor and Bres led the Fomorians. On the other side, Lugh gave his guards the slip and took the forefront of the battle. In his chariot he led the Tuatha Dé Danann. He called to the men of Ireland to free themselves from the bondage of the Fomorians, for it was better to die for the land than to live and pay tribute. And to give them heart Lugh went around the warriors on one foot and with one eye closed and he chanted this spell: Arotroi cath comartan. Fo, fo. Fe, fe. Cle. Amainsi!
There was a great shout. The armies rushed together and started to hack at the one and the other. Many fine men fell in the trough of death. Great killing and grave lying was seen there. Pride and shame were side by side, anger and indignation. Thick was the stream of blood over white skin. Harsh the tumult over the field: shouts and clashes and swishing and rattling and humming and whirring, and everywhere the clanging strokes of hard blows.
They attacked each other till their fingertips and toes almost met. Blood under their feet, and they slipping and falling down. A heavy, gory, pain-inflicting, sharp, bloody battle, with shafts and blades red in the hands of enemies.
Nuada of the Silver Arm fell before the blows of Balor. Then Lugh and eye-piercing Balor met in battle. An evil eye had Balor. That eye was never allowed open save on the battlefield. Then four men would raise the eye-lid by a polished ring. Whoever looked in that eye, though they were thousands in number, were rendered helpless. It had that venomous power for this reason: once, when his father's druids were brewing magic, he looked in the window, and the fumes of the brew settled in his eye and gave it this dangerous power. Lugh and Balor came together, and Balor heard the challenge from Lugh.
'Now, men' said Balor 'raise up my eye-lid that I might see this boastful fellow.'
The lid was raised from Balor's eye. Then Lugh hurled a stone from his sling-shot at him, which drove the eye through the back of his head, and it was Balor's own army that was looking at it. Balor fell on top of his own soldiers so that twenty-seven of them died under him, and the crown of his head struck the chest of his king so that a gush of blood spouted from his lips.
Then Morrigan came into the ranks with grim words, stiffening the hearts of the Tuatha Dé Danann to fight fiercely and resolutely. In a short while the armies broke apart and the Fomorians were driven to the sea. Many called for mercy and among them was Loch Half-Green the poet of the enemy. To him Lugh replied 'Grant me my requests.'
'That I will do,' said Loch. 'I will remove forever from Ireland all invasion and plundering by the Fomorians. And in all hard cases the judgement of your tongue shall resolve the matter until the end of life.' So Loch the poet was spared, and he chanted to the Tuatha Dé 'The Decree of Fastening'.
After the battle, the Tuatha Dé wished to kill Bres for all this trouble was his fault. But he stopped their hands saying 'It is better to spare me, than to kill me.'
'How is that so?' asked Lugh.
'If I am spared, the cows of Ireland will always be in milk,' replied Bres.
'Let us consult the wise men' said Lugh.
So Lugh went to wise Maeltne, who answered, 'He shall not be spared, milk he might control but what shall he do about their age or their calving?'
'O Maeltne,' said Bres 'A bitter response you give me.'
Then Lugh asked again 'What else shall save you, Bres?'
'A harvest every quarter shall be yours, if you spare me.'
'No mercy for that' replied Maeltne. 'It is not the proper way for us. What is suitable is this: spring for ploughing and sowing, summer for the growing of the grain, autumn for the ripeness and reaping, winter for the eating.'
'That does not save you,' said Lugh.
And Bres cried out 'O Maeltne, another bitter response.'
But Lugh said, 'Less will rescue you.'
'What then?' said Bres.
'Answer, this: how shall the men of Ireland plough? How shall they sow? How shall they reap? Make these things known to them.'
'Say to them,' replied Bres 'Tuesday for their ploughing, Tuesday for their sowing, Tuesday for their reaping.'
Thus Bres was spared and released.
Now, in the battle the champion Oghma found the sword of Tethra, one of the kings of the Fomorians. Oghma unsheathed the sword and cleaned it. Then the sword told him what it had done, because swords recounted their deeds when laid bare. Therefore swords are entitled to the homage of cleaning. Many spells have been kept in swords by that means. And Loch Half-Green made a verse about that sword.
When the Fomorians retreated, Lugh and Dagda and Oghma went after them because they had carried off Dagda's harp. After hard sprinting they reached the hall where Bres and Elatha sat. There was a harp on the wall. It was the harp in which Dagda had bound the melodies, so that it would not sound until he called forth the music.
Then the harp sprang from the wall, and it killed nine men altogether and it sprang to the hand of Dagda. Quickly he played for the Fomorians the three great melodies: The Melody of Sorrow, The Melody of Joy and the Melody of Dreams. At the sorrowful music the women wept. At the joyful music the men laughed. And at the music of dreams the warriors fell asleep. So Lugh, Dagda and Oghma were able to creep away unharmed, though the Fomorians had wished to slaughter them.
As they went away Dagda gathered up the cattle the Fomorians had plundered. First he called to his dark, black-maned heifer, the one given him by Bres as wages for building the fort. Then she called for her calf, and all the cattle of Ireland followed her.
After the breaking of the battle and the cleansing of the carnage, Morrigan, war-Queen, proclaimed the triumph and victory to the royal hills of Ireland, to its spirit army, to its water and rivers and estuaries. And the great deeds are still spoken of. And Badb sister of Morrigan pronounced this blessing over Ireland:
Peace up to heaven, heaven down to Earth.
Earth beneath heaven, strength in each.
A cup very full, full of honey.
Mead in abundance, summer in winter.
Peace up to heaven.
Death Tales of the Tuatha De Danann
from the Book of Leinster, 1150 A.D.
Edleo son of Alldai yonder, the first man of the Tuatha De
Danann who fell in virgin Ireland, by the hand of Nerchon
grandson of Semeon.
Ernmas, high her valour, fell, Fiachra, Echtach, Etargal,
Tuirill Piccreo of Baile Breg in the first battle of Mag
Tuired.
Elloth with battle fell -the father, great and rough, of
Manannan -and perfect, fair Donand, at the hands of De
Domnand of the Fomoraig.
Cethen of Cu died of horror in Aircheltra; Cian far from
his home did Brian, Iucharba and Iuchar slay.
Of a stroke of the pure sun died Cairpre the great, son of
Etan: Etan died over the pool of sorrow for white-headed
Cairpre.
In Mag Tuired, it was through battle Nuadu Airgetlam fell:
and Macha - that was after Samain -by the hand of Balar
the strong-smiter.
Ogma fell, without being weak at the hands of Indech son
of De Domnann: breasted Casmael the good fell at the
hands of Ochtriallach son of Indech.
Now of painful plague died Dian Cecht and Goibnenn the
smith: Luigne the wright fell along with them by a strong
fiery dart.
Creidne the pleasant artificer was drowned on the lake-sea,
the sinister pool, fetching treasures of noble gold to
Ireland from Spain.
Bress died in Carn Ui Neit by the treachery of Lug, with
no fullness of falsehood: for him it was a cause of quarrel
indeed drinking bog-stuff in the guise of milk.
Be Chuille and faithful Dianann, both the farmeresses died,
an evening with druidry, at the last, by gray demons of
air.
He fell on the strand eastward in the trenches of Rath
Ailig, Did Indui the great, son of pleasant Delbaeth, at the
hands of Gann, a youth bold, white-fisted.
Fea, lasting was his fame, died at the end of a month after
his slaying at the same stronghold - we think it fitting -
for sorrow for Indui the white-haired.
Boind died at the combat at the wellspring of the son of
noble Nechtan: Aine daughter of the Dagda died for the
love that she gave to Banba.
Cairpre fell - remember thou! by the hand of Nechtan son
of Nama: Nechtan fell by the poison at the hands of
Sigmall, grandson of Free Midir.
Abean son of cold Bec-Felmas, the bard of Lug with full
victory, he fell by the hand of Oengus without reproach in
front of Midir of mighty deeds.
Midir son of Indui yonder fell by the hand of Elcmar: fell
Elcmar, fit for fight, at the hands of Oengus the perfect.
Brian, Iucharba, and Iuchar there, the three gods of the
Tuatha De Danann were slain at Mana over the bright sea
by the hand of Lug son of Ethliu.
Cermait son of the divine Dagda, Lug ... (?) wounded him it
was a sorrow of grief upon the plain in the reign of Eochu
Ollathair.
Cermat Milbel the mighty fell at the hands of harsh Lug
son of Ethliu, in jealousy about his wife, great the fashion,
concerning whom the druid lied unto him.
by the hand of Mac Cecht without affection the harper fell:
moreover Lug fell over the wave, by the hand of Mac Cuill
son of Cermat.
Aed son of The Dagda fell at the hands of Corrchend the
fair, of equal valour; without deceit, it was a desire of
strictness, after he had gone to his wife iniquitously.
Corrchend from Cruach fell -the harsh very swift champion,
by the stone which he raised on the strand over the grave
of shamefaced Aed.
Cridenbel squinting and crooked fell -the chief spell-weaver
of the Tuatha De Danann -of the gold which he found in
the idle Bann, by the hand of The Dagda, grandson of
Delbaeth.
As he came from cold Alba he, the son of The Dagda of
ruddy form, at the outlet of Boinn, over here, there was
Oengus drowned.
The only son of Manannan from the bay, the first love of
the aged woman, the tender youth fell in the plain at the
hands of Idle Bennan, on the plain of Breg.
Net son of Indui and his two wives, Badb and Neman
without deceit, were slain in Ailech without blame by
Nemtuir the Red, of the Fomoraig.
Fuamnach the white (?) who was wife of Midir, Sigmall and
Bri without faults, In Bri Leith, it was full vigour, they
were burnt by Manannan.
The son of Allot fell, with valour, the rich treasure,
Manannan, in the battle in harsh Cuillend by the hand of
Uillend of the red eyebrows.
Uillend with pride fell at the hands of Mac Greine with
pure victory: the wife of the brown Dagda perished of
plague of the slope in Liathdruim.
The Dagda died of a dart of gore in the Brug - it is no
falsehood -wherewith the woman Cethlenn gave him mortal
hurt, in the great battle of Mag Tuired.
Delbaeth and his son fell at the hands of Caicher, the
noble son of Nama: Caicher fell at the idle Boinn, at the
hands of Fiachna son of Delbaeth.
Fiacha and noble Ai fell before sound Eogan of the Creek:
Eogan of the cold creek fell before Eochaid the knowing,
hard as iron.
Eochaid of knowledge fell thereafter at the hands of Aed
and of Labraid: Labraid, Oengus, Aed, fell at the hands of
Cermat of form all fair.
Eriu and Fotla with pride, Mac Greine and Banba with
victory, Mac Cuill, Mac Cecht with purity in the battle of
Temair of clear wave.
Mac Cecht at the hands of noble Eremon: Mac Cuill, of
perfect Eber: Eriu yonder, at the hands of Suirge
thereafter: Mac Greine of Amorgen.
Fotla at the hands of Etan with pride, of Caicher, Banba
with victory, Whatever the place wherein they sleep, those
are the deaths of the warriors; hear ye.
Those are the adventures of the Tuatha De Danann.
