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This is a very interesting piece of prose I got from Duanaire Finn. It is in relation to an account of the Fianna travelling to Sorcha (China) to fight Fer Dochair mac Duibh.
‘T’ and ‘D’ were interchangeable in old Irish, and it’s a wonder should it originally have meant Fer Tochair mac Duibh. If it was Fer Tochair, it may well mean the ‘Men of Tochair’, as opposed to just a reference to the Gruagach himself.
In China there was an ancient Celtic tribe called the Tocharian’s, who Mummies were found in the late 60’s. Their history was lost to world folklore for over 800 years, as they were presumed to have lived in China from about 1000 BC to 1200 AD.
This story was written down in the 12th/13th century from an older manuscript, and I was wondering if this was possibly a historic account of the Fianna (or possibly earlier descendants of Ireland), trading etc with their Celtic cousins in China.
The mummies are unmistakably Irish as is their tartan clothing and jewellery.
One could also ask were the Tocharian’s themselves originally from Ireland. Anyone have any views on this?
The Adventure of the Men from Sorcha
It was a feast that Fionn made for Cormac in the great mansion of Sidh Truim: the nobles of the men of Fál came with the prince of Tara to the meeting.
The king of Alba comes, and the king of the Greeks, and the son of the king of wealthy Lochlainn on a visit to Cormac of the battles in pride and in splendour.
Iollann, verily, was the name of the king of the Greeks, Corc the name of the king of Alba of many roads, Conall and Cuilleann of the ships, the two names of the king of Lochlainn.
Fionn, a prince without envy, sent an invitation to Cormac to come to the banquet given without guile to the men of Ireland.
When each had gone without deceit into the yew-brown red mansion, the king of the Greeks was placed with the king of Alba by his shoulder.
And the sons of the king of Lochlainn reproachless, fittingly at the right of that king, the man supreme in majesty and power, Cormac, son of Art, the high-king.
The king of Ulster and his following, and the king of Munster of good aspect, the king of Cruachain of active min, sat around Cormac on that occasion.
The king of warlike Leinster sat, a generous man of perfect mirth: great was their mirth at a feast, all that were in the side-blue mansion.
Eight men and eighteen score of leaders of hosts, it is not untrue, were around the king of Ireland of the spoils, not reckoning their foreigners.
On the further side sat the worthy high-king of the fians of Ireland: great as was their display at the banquet, Fionn was a better man than all in the mansion.
At Fionn’s right shoulder were set Goll son of Morna, the sons of Nemhnann, and myself, good wisdom, on the left side of my father.
Oscar and Diarmaid, son of Donn, at that time by my shoulder: after these were arrayed the high nobles of our fians in the mansion.
Along with the sons of active Morna were Garadh and valiant Conán: Goll and all his kin at the right hand of Fionn of Almhain.
There were thirty poets between Fionn and the fires: not a man of them but had a silken cloak from the son of Cumhall, son of Trénmhór.
The stewards who were in the house attending the rest at this time were Caireall, Fionn of the high steps, Caoinche and brown ruddy Daire.
Raighne, a man of wisdom, another good son of Fionn himself, and Caoilte, victorious man, serving the high princes of us.
The joyful hosts assume a great and clamorous mirth through drinking: we behold coming into our presence a cheerful, merry Gruagach.
His sweet-strung harp in his hand: it was more musical than organs: deftly, excellently he played it, so that our company were not displeased.
The hosts fell silent of their own accord at the tender sound of music: the Gruagach of the harmony was then placed in a chair of gold.
A slave followed him without fear: never saw I so big a man: with a caldron on his powerful arm that would cook enough for seven hundred.
Said Fionn of brightest visage, the king who never failed at need: ‘Ask thy guerdon forthwith, man: name us thy errand to the hostel.’
‘To ask my caldron-full of gold from the good son of Cumhall of the hosts, and to find out who is best at bestowing of the men of Ireland.’
Muireann’s good son answers that, and not by reason of having feasted, and gave his caldron-full of gold to the huge and kingly giant.
It was Fionn’s luck and fortune, when the strong man came over the wave, that Trénmhór’s son had in his camp by a chance of shipload of gold.
Fionn said to Caoilte: ‘Go forth to pay it’: Caoilte brought in of the gold of Araby its fill in the Gruagach’s caldron.
The Gruagach said to Fionn: ‘I find no prince thy better; there cannot be in the east or here a king, however great, to compare with thee.’
Fionn, whose utterance was not rough, asked in a loud, clear voice of the huge man: ‘Since thou hast now got thy will, thy name, thy surname, tell for us.’
‘Thou shall have the truth of my tidings, man of the mighty combats: I am Fer Dochair son of Dubh, from the bright lands, from the Sorchas.
‘Fionn, the Gruagach is a son of mine, that played the music of many virtues, the man who excels in spirit and strength, is best in valour and wizardry.’
Then out spoke good Conan, who shunned no man’s encounter: ‘Though now though art not reckoning Fionn, he would carry the prize in all thou sadist.
‘Never yet came one to compete from near or from so far but he would find in the household of Fionn a man to match him in Ireland.’
‘My match was never yet found near or far away: nor shall there come here now one how good so ever to contend with me.’
Anger seized Oscar of battle when he heard the challenge, and he wagered beyond the men of Ireland to master the fair-haired Gruagach.
Up rose the man that shook the chain, on hearing the brawl, and shook thereupon the chain of silver, that was not of bronze nor of iron.
Then valorous Fionn fell silent at the general sound of the chain, till his visage reddened like scarlet at Oscar’s insult to the Gruagach.
The whole host was hushed at the blushing of Fionn of Almhain: there was not a hero of hard combat whom it did not check at once.
Cumhall’s son of valour spake to the good son of wise Oisin: ‘Oscar, though good be they grace, do not insult the Gruagach.’
‘By reason of the wrath that just now has come on the son of Cumhall,’ said Oscar, ‘unless thou master the prince of Fál, thou shalt fall in consequence of thy challenge.’
Spake the Gruagach who was not slack: ‘Son of Cumhall son of Trénmhór, since to thee, Fionn, I have come, escort me safe out of Ireland.’
‘Be not in dread to return, Gruagach of the waving crown of hair: thou shalt have a clear escorting from me out of the bounds of the Gaelic shore.’
‘Though the men of Ireland all to one man were to come against thee, I will send you safe from them till thou leave the shore of Ireland.’
‘True is everything that has been told of thee, Fionn of the edge-naked armes; aught good that was said of thee was no flattery, son of Muireann of the great feasts.’
Eight good men were sent by the high prince with the Gruagach, Mac Lughach and honest Caoilte and Caireall, grandson of Conbhrón.
Caol Cródha, high was his might, the three sons of the Craftsman, from the high-king were sent; the other man, fierce and ready-witted, the tall Oscar son of Cromcheann.
There are the eight that Fionn sent – I have heard of no company to excel them – with great courtesy from his house to accompany the Gruagach.
Spake the Gruagach of ready speech: ‘Since I am going, Oscar, if thou shouldst follow me to Sorcha, thou shalt have combat and fierce encounter.’
‘I swear by my wounding weapons, by my sword and by my spear, when I hear that ye are in the east, that I will go to seek thee.’
The Gruagach departs, and the huge man, and those eight of our host, from us in a ship over the salt sea eastward from the great haven of Benn Edair.
The unwearied crew found a wind that was always with them: for those three months’ space they were encountering perils and wandering from the course.
They took harbour in Sorcha having parted with trials : heavy was their weariness from the sea, the handsome beloved eight.
The son of great Lugh, - Caol Cródha, fierce was his awfulness, asked – ‘What is the land of shining hue that I see?’ said the high prince’s son.
The spake the Gruagach to Caol Cródha battle victorious: ‘This is Sorcha strong and staunch, son of Lugh of the strokes.’
‘If hither was thy journey from us, from the excelling land of Ireland, go into thy country – we deem it time – and we shall go to Ireland.’
‘Come ye with me for love of Fionn, ye nobles of the pleasant heroes: the delights of Sorcha shall be yours until your heavy strain be relieved.’
They go promptly forth from the ship, the eight heroes much beloved: the Gruagach and the huge man were at their service diligently.
They see a city in the land, various and beautiful was the colour of its side, many a free craft was followed on its outskirts.
In the dauntless fortress were a kindred many-hued, delightful, with blades of furious flames, with satin silken cloaks.
With seric cloaks of satin, with tall regal womanfolk, with seric embroidery moreover upon her cloak upon each queen.
Though in many a castle I have been ere now, south and north, east and west, I have not heard of another such home nor a people their equal.
The multitude fair of colour came forth, they made obeisance to the Gruagach, and the kissed him affectionately, youth and maiden alike.
When they reached the huge man, both womanfolk and multitude, each man promptly gave each man’s kiss to the Gruagach.
‘Tell, thou Gruagach of war, by whom every challenge has been sustained, who are the scanty band thou hast brought to the mansion.’
‘With Cumhall’s son of ruddy face, who gives no refusal nor denial, abide the eight of good service, and seven battalions in his standing Fían.’
Mac Lughach the fortunate spake promptly to the Gruagach: ‘make known to us, O man, what are the fortress and its people.’
‘Here is the hostel’s name for you, for love of Fionn of Dún Modhairne, this is the City of Gold, ye folk of the son of Trénmhór’s son.’
Down sat the valiant Gruagach and all his host in the hostel, and placed hospitably near him the folk of Fionn of Almhain.
Two hundred faultless men-at-arms were serving the encampments, and each brave man at the banquet had a cup embellished with gold.
When the great joyful festive host was full of mirth, a man arose in the brilliant hostel, boasting his bravery before all.
He spoke then with a haughty word standing up in the mansion: O pleasant company, have ye seen the equal of this castle in Ireland?’
‘I vow, O Gruagach,’ said the son of proud Criomhthann, ‘the Fionn for one hour of the day is better than ye all till doom.’
‘All that I see in Inis Fáil, though ye think them greatly to be vaunted, better am I than all fo them,’ said the yellow-haired Gruagach.
‘What silken stuff there is in my house, and what goblets heaped around, and what cups of golden ornament, are better than the wealth of Trénmhór’s grandson.’
Up rose Caireall white of skin, and the comparison had not pleased him, seized a sword of fierce fury and two fiery spears.
Up rose Mac Lughach the active, and the Craftsman’s three sons, Caol Cródha brave and merry, and Oscar son of Cromcheann.
Up started Caoílte, clear of countenance, a bright man of conquering lances, a bright man comely at a feast, stalwart he was and honourable.
The victorious Gruagach took a hero’s step bravely and hardily right opposite the son of Fionn’s son, to stay him in the stead of combat.
A step to meet him, a stout step, took the son of Daire then: it was enough to quell the heart, the sound of their sledge-smiting.
Caoílte and Caireall were bravely hewing in the hostel, and Criomhthann’s son fierce in might together wounding the hosts.
Caol Cródha high in mien, the Craftsman’s three handsome sons: direst exploit I have heard, two-thirds of the host engaging them.
Fifty heroes – brave was the onset – Caireall O Conbhróin slew; there fell by the Craftsman’s son thrice fifty courageous men.
Ten and fifty fierce heroes Caol Cródha cut down with his sword: this is the reckoning not slight that were wounded in the fight.
His ready sword, full of fury, in the Gruagach’s lissom hand, he planted it till its hilt was bloody in the flesh of shining heroes.
Daire’s son the horrific bore fifty wounds from the quarrel: the virtues of their blades defended the heroes’ bodies in the combat.
The Craftsman’s dauntless sons, Cromcheann’s son, and Caireall, Caoilte, and warlike Caol Cródha came around glorious Mac Lughach.
They carried Mac Lughach off, men pitiful after the fray, brought him in their ship over the sea in spite of the company of comely men.
They encountered danger and peril wending westward over the brine: the courage of the men will not be known until the end of all times. Ravens without ruth were sated from their encounter with the host, and seas incarnadined with their blood, through the wrath of the achieving eight.
They came, though it was hard for them, to Ireland despite the host: famous was their faring from the east fair into the haven of Benn Édair.
Caoilte came on to Almha, we rejoiced that he did not tarry, the six successful remained in the company of Mac Lughach.
All they went through of furious battle since leaving yew-clad Ireland, Caoilte relates it all to his Fían and to Fionn of Almhain.
We were not long thereafter, when Caoílte had come to us, till the arrival of Mac Lughach of the feats, and his six heroes equal in fame.
Women came in frenzy, and Almhain’s young folk, wailing for fierce Mac Lughach – many a hero of us was mournful.
A year, as I remember and attest, were Gaoine’s wounds a-curing; at the year’s end he was whole, it brought joy to the Fían.
Oscar, generous man, who never withdrew a foot from death, thought of seeking battle in the eastern land, that son of redoubtable Oisin.
He obtained my leave and Fionn’s to go east, though it grieved us: though great was his following, he brought with him only thrice nine men across.
The names of the three nines that were skilful I shall tell you, though I have outlived them sorrowing, I have knowledge of their story.
One in the first place was my own son: two was wise Mac Lughach: Caoince and Daire son of Fionn, four warriors full pleasant.
Ráighne son of Fionn, high his valour, and the Craftsman’s three sons were four, Caoílte whose speed was a murmuring sound, there are nine of them, O heroes.
Three good heroes of my children went, Iolach and pleasant Oisín along with Oscar, over the brine; good was their triumph and their encounter.
Conan went thither, the Grey Man’s son, fierce was his joining in engagement, and his six sons stout at arms, they were courageous to compare.
These are but eighteen men, great was their activity and their bulk: and twenty without defect therein were Eochaidh son of Fionn and Caireall.
Breasal’s son went, not weak in act: he was stout in their quarrel; and O Duibhne brown-haired, and Fionn son of Dubhán faultless.
Legán the airy without sadness, a hero who spoke true judgements: O hero, brave was his might, the twenty-fourth hero.
Three others went, fierce in fray, of the race of Ronán of famous songs: Domhnall son of Caoílte the tall prince, Colla and redhanded Labhraidh.
Gently floated up to the wharf Oscar’s ship of sprightly trim: in it go prosperously to the east the three nines full sturdy.
They reached Alba of the hosts, the active crew of fierce speech, demanding rent and revenue in return for gentleness and peace.
The men of Alba come in wrath, spirited battalions of large heroes: to meet the swift warriors there was many a brigade of good men.
Oscar comes on with his little host by whom many a hard encounter was sustained: though many a lord opposed him, he gave battle to the Scotsmen.
They stormed Dún Monadh, they routed the Scotsmen: Alba’s king of forays fell by manly bloodstained Oscar.
This was the battle of great Dún Monadh where many of an army fell: the worse for the power and fame thenceforth of those that died in that fray.
The men of Scotland, though great their muster, their courage and their power, submitted thereupon to Oscar, for the greatness of the spoils of his sword.
There was not on the solid land in power of battle and sturdiness of sword a leader of three nines of their men that did not pay tribute to Oscar.
He divided their own gold and wealth as an overlord’s bounty among themselves: by his sword he took their hostages and by the strength of his warfare.
Thirty-five ships he brought with him southwards from Alba: they go to London of the kings, it was a great company of strife.
A ready army met them in London of the white coasts: all that were for battle in this eastern land were in the fortress to meet them.
London of the red ramparts is stormed by the company of great fury: Oscar fiercely overthrows the men of the Saxons all on one field.
Saxonland is pledged for his time to Oscar for his victory to be tributary thenceforward until the lastest day.
He got thirty ships and their men with im and their provisions from London: his force on the deep sea of currents was three score ships of war.
He goes on a distant voyage from Saxonland of the great hosts to the bright haven of Rheims of the kings, it was a cause of broken peace to France.
The French assemble vauntingly: they were right ready to come against them: there was scarce a king or prince in the east that did not gather to oppose them.
They inflicted slaughter on their princes, they took their great cities, they swiftly subdued their kings and destroyed their mighty armies.
The victorious Franks are overthrown by the northern expedition of Oscar: they submitted to his peace and to the tribute of his sword.
He got their captives and their tributes – it was not a work without skill – Oscar carried off all their spoils during the battle.
They gained power over every land, Oscar’s ungentle fleet; dolorous until doom shall be all they slew unerringly.
Then they go forth from France, after all the war they had waged: they tarried not, though stern was the encounter, until they arrived in Spain.
The spoiling Spaniards came in multitudes to look on battle: many a lord good of hand was pressing on to the encounter.
They set a ring of battle around Oscar, son of the prince: a silken standard, well-wrought, of seric fabric, is hoisted for him on a lance.
They gave a stout and furious onset, the [invading] band and the Spaniards: many were the pools of blood from those that were worsted in the strife.
Fifty ringleted heroes, no over-statement, fell by Oscar’s hand in the fray: one-third of all that perished by his valour till doomsday will not be remembered.
The high tribute of the Spaniards was paid at once right into his hand; hostages and revenue thereafter, and no spite against him.
From Spain to great Almain to levy tribute for his host; the might fleet of Banba, a strong full-valiant navy.
In Almain was assembled rapidly a concourse of warriors of hostility to guard them from being a sorrow: they rued their muster.
Oscar of the triumphant sword advanced, though it was a cause of sighs to his hosts, gave fight to their nobles of fame – it was a woe of battles to their lords.
The Allemans advance against him in anger and in awesomeness: one and twenty staunch battalions faced him in the engagement.
All their host was overthrown by Oscar of the heavy blows: the valiant king of the two Almains he slew in single combat.
The gold and treasures of the two Almains were ceded to him without protest, and a fixed tribute thenceforth, and the command of their cities.
There was not from great Almain till they came to Greece a land whose tribute wealth and booty they did not capture.
They came to Greece though far away: they suffered many pains therein: great were the hardships of the men: great their enterprises to relate.
Sing their enterprises, pleasant Oisin, until they son returned to Ireland: excellent is the melody of thy youth, and sweet, O ancient man.
Though wandersome and long to tell their active perilous expedition, I will not cease from it nevertheless till I put a finish on its end.
A Grecian muster gathers: they were numerous, hundred-fighters: there was many a coloured standard of red silk over their high nobles.
The standard of noble Oscar is set on a spear uplifted, nobly decked: he advances, sheathed in armour, a man of blood-stained strife.
Oscar with his glorious host and the Greeks come against each other: it passes count, O pleasant churchman, all that the band left woeful.
They shoot forth showers of venom from their fiery ancient weapons: the unwearied bands kept smiting heads and helmets.
By the hand of warlike Oscar fell the high king of the Greeks in the encounter: the king’s host thereupon the men of the fleet destroyed.
Seventeen kings of Greece he compelled to submit to tribute: bravely he won victory and spoils, the hero, weapon-keen Oscar.
When they had overcome the king of the Greeks, they go forward into India: that was the land of armies and of courts, beautiful of many excellences.
The king of India comes against him, with three score high-vaunting battalions: it were difficult, O man, to bring tribute out of that land.
Oscar, with the furious band, comes to meet them and engage them: brighter than clouds of heaven were the lightning’s of their sledge-smiting.
No man escaped to tell the tidings south or north of the stout household, but Oscar of the fierce onsets kept hewing with his had sword.
Oscar, that refused no man aught, slew the king of India in the conflict: anger seized him through the hosts, triumphant weapon-strong Oscar.
Oscar, clear of voice, bestowed the wealth of that land on his army: he gave wages to every man of the gold of the Indians.
Seven shipfuls, without refusal, to be paid him each complete year: a great tribute from bright India was due to Oscar in Ireland.
They went to free Sorcha, the company that brought sorrow into every land: a stout upstanding wood of spears: the flag of their prowess was not low.
The number then of the people of Oscar of the gilded swords was four battalions, a numerous host of good carriage and bravery.
A fierce army from Sorcha comes, terrific men, awful their guise, eighteen battalions of great power they had at the haven aided by wizardry.
They cast fires and rocks at the fleet on the sea, and a hundred snowstorms full of fury to overthrown the navy’s might.
This is the number that perished there by the army of Sorcha, O churchman, four shipfuls of great strength: they were drowned all at once.
The oversea fleet comes to the shore in spite of men: great was their power in every land, they gave battle not gently.
The men of Sorcha gave fierce battle to that company of brave endeavour: waters grew red suddenly with the lightning of swords and helmets.
Fifteen days, a fierce endurance, with none giving forward or backward, but smiting bodies and heads, the armies of Sorcha and the band.
The Gruagach, never a weakling, answers the (challenge to) duel of Oscar son of Oisín: warlike Oscar advances against encountering Gruagach.
To victorious Oscar of the steeds it was thus the Gruagach spake: I will never cut off they head, thou hast bravely voyaged against us.
Oscar answered merrily to overmaster the dauntless Gruagach, stoutly, furiously, fiercely, angrily, eagerly, right vigorously.
Two strokes successful Oscar gave Gruagach for every stroke: strike as he might, he drew from him no blood, but red meteors of fire.
Fearless Caireall said – well we like the speech – smite famous Oscar, his blade out of the Gruagach’s hand.
Active Oscar, who was not timid, accepted the advice he got from caireall, smote his new weapon of fury from the fair yellow-haired Gruagach.
When Oscar who was not timid heard the voiced of his foes around him, he swiftly hewed off the man’s head with a heroic sword-stroke.
The Gruagach of active strength fell in the duel with Oscar, and the huge man too of grim from by his fierce formidable sword.
Oscar kept at the fight after his triumph in the duel – a dragon’s feat, stern was the meeting – rending skulls with his sturdy arm.
Raighne, good son of Fionn, slew the king of Sorcha in the fray: the king’s son of valiant prowess was slain by the hand of Oscar.
Sorrowful from the hand of the fierce hero was Sorcha of beautiful hosts, having lost her people, good hero, through the Gruagach’s challenge.
He exacted then captives and hostages for his people: they leave courageous Sorcha in sorrow for lack of friends.
They go to great Hesperia, numerous and strong were its hosts, long lasting and potent their strength, their power and their magic.
The prices of the men assemble to do battle with his expedition: though the tops of the forests was heard the clang of their weapons and armour.
By warlike Oscar, hero that possessed every spoil, is slain the king of Hesperia, sad tidings, and a thousand heroes of his great hosts.
Oscar, furious and fierce, was not content without the entire tribute of Hesperia: he got their revenues thenceforward and the command of their cities.
Twelve battalions, formidable men, there were in active Italy; guarding their eastern land in wait for weapon-famed Oscar.
Having subdued their country, their king and his despotic power, he carried off over the brine gold and cups out of goodly deep-blue Italy.
By Oscar’s sword that overthrew the mighty, the king of Italy is slain at this time: two hundred sons of kings, courageous and tall, fell of the troops at the hands of his powerful host.
They cross the sea with hardship, the strong and sturdy company: they paused not from the steady course till (they reached) the hero-abounding band of Lochlainn.
Of Lochlanners hard by the haven, an active hero-muster with the cavalry, to meet the goodly band was many a champion and high prince.
Though they were brave to see and numerous, deadly in battle as they weened, a deathly visage came upon each man, fearing their death from Oscar.
A fierce onset on the furious band the numerous host of Lochlainn gave: that was indeed the venomous shower whose nery bolts were many.
Many a vulture was screaming for those that were laid low in the stout stress, and many a raven was delighted by Oscar’s victorious hand.
The King of Lochlainn fell – though haughty was their spirit: the strength of Lochlainn from that out Oscar brought to his fleet.
They breach the city of Beirbhe, though splendid was its muster: its hostages, its might, its power, in a short space have to depart.
They gather the gold of the city, its treasures and its great beasts: it was a spoiling of no weak kings, their journey to the land of Lochlainn.
They went into their ships, the winners of every hard triumph: the man of high prowess advances to the fortress of the high king of Briton (Wales).
The men of Briton were there to meet them; brave men, not slack in combat: and many a combat there was, though they had the best of numbers in the conflict.
By Oscar’s strong valour fell the king of Briton of stern triumphs: ten hundred armed men not gentle fell by his hand in the great affray.
He abandoned not the eastern land, but kept waging battle and triumph till he had subdued by the strength of his blades the men of Briton all in combat.
He gave the cities of the land to furious flames: no rampart but he burned and plundered, no host whose company he did not quell.
The men of Briton though bold, by the strength of Oscar of the strokes, were left, the prince and his hosts left them, ruined and overthrown.
The pleasant company voyage to the shore-smooth land of Ireland: they come to rest and draw up at the fort of Barrach son of Úmhór.
He gives leave to all that were there to go with their booty to their people and to return to him over the sea, and to remain a while with him.
There came to meet him, to his ship, the active Fíans of Cumhall’s son: stout and sturdy were their hosts, the sturdy race of Trénmhór.
I swear to thee by my good word, though my body’s vigour has departed, that Oscar brough to us the power of every land their spoils.
There was not of the sons of Fionn, except myself, O hero, one – and the men were noble – that did not accept Oscar’s hire.
The number of the host that Oscar had, whose victory and spoils were great, not counting attendants and women, was none thousand full-active heroes.
My son’s magnificent company, though numerous were their battles and combat – he himself excelled them all in the hour of strife and conflict.
He was a senior before each brave man, in the time in which he reached his carrying of arms, his power, and his comeliness: courageous was the brave hero’s onset.
That is Oscar’s voyage to the east, and somewhat of the prowess of his sword: all that perished by his hand and blade till the day of doom I may not tell.
Every land he traversed eastwards of the noble territories of the world, tribute for his fear undemanded they sent him every year.
Oscar may my beloved levied, after traversing each wild sea, tribute from every province for his lifetime, he obtained it after his return to Ireland.
There shall never be since Oscar, hero of many a stern triumph, there was not in the time when he was, a man his match in combats.
Believe henceforth, valiant Oisín, man that was fierce in fray; give thy attention to the King of the elements: practice spirit without malice.
Grief for my people and for Fionn has darkened my heart, O hero: since the not weakly band is gone, henceforth my friends are few.
Oscar of fame lives not, though great were his spoils in the chase; nor Fionn, king of the blood-stained Fíans, nor the hundred-wounding Corr Swiftfoot.
Caoílte of prudent sense lives not, a wrathful, bloody, right noble man: nor Mac Lughach famed and keen, a hero for whom my spirit is gloomy.
I alone, after the destruction of the Fían, attending to hours and matins, without largesse, without foraying, without the acclaim of the grateful poets.
No feast a-holding in my house, no gold bestowed on companies, and ancient of devotion in spirit, where we have neither attendance or society.
Son of Fionn who refused no man gold or bronze, thou shalt have the kingdom of the sky, that is not mean, for thy heart and for thy humanity.
Make not lament, O man, son of Fionn of the numerous household; truly we shall all go, O son of the king of Almhain.
It grieves me, Hero of the relics, who makest devotion with diligence, to be alive now after Oscar who defended all that thou hast named.
Henceforth I can but sorrow, since the sons of Trénmhór are gone: my glory and my beauty have departed, my strength, my hosts, my household.
My blessings on thee, O man, for thy chant all this time: may I obtain from the King of the elements thy admission with me into his royal fortress.
May mercy reach each one, and mindful repentance, who will give to memory all that has been chanted to us of the words of Oisín son of Fionn.
O Hero, to whom my voice is sweet, O man for whom a noble chant is sung, if my valour were restored, thou shouldst be in command of the earth.
Practive devotion and prudence: many perils thou has sustained ere now: every spear that thou has ever cast, that I should be with Oscar.
Dearer to me were the deep chant of the Fíans, and the sound of the chase on every highland, and Caoílte’s musical cry, that the kingdom and thy joys, O Hero.
Accept faith, noble Oisín, man that was attentive to a company and do a pure repentance for thy smiting in battles.
If swift Mac Lughach lived, and sword-strong Caoílte, thou shouldst not have them in a church taking thy instructions, O Hero.
Since there lives of the Fían of Fál but thou alone of mighty awe, O Oisín, who didst serve each one, believe cheerfully in the element Hero.
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Ad-rae Buaid agus Beannacht
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