Classic Poem

God knew that the Kindred of Conall was being brought back into anxiety; the heart of Colum came to the chaste race of curly-haired Conall because of his love for them. The nobles of the Eirne were in great difficulty because of the death of the high king; a youth came from the sea beyond who took from the host their tether of affliction. When they heard his being announced, hardly a man waited to put on his belt; tidings of him to the pick of the host of the Eirne was as good as if his father had risen from the grave. The Kindred of Conall did not despair of Domhnall of Druim Cuinn; not certain was what the first man heard, that he had come to Ros Guill of the pale sprigs. There has gone forth from the cluster of the high king the single nut that was highest upon the branch, so that a cluster of the same tree filled the tent of the Sons of noble Seadna. That man is Domhnall ├ô Domhnaill; he lit an ember that had gone out; he removed from the sun the stain of the storm and acquired the kingship again. Domhnall, son of ├ëigneachan of Fanaid, the one supporting prop of Inis Fail, the firm support of the household of Conall, was blessed by the mouth of holy Colum Cille. Lasairfhiona, daughter of Mor, is the brown-cloaked mother of Domhnall; not better was the father of his brothers — the prize for a mother will go to the young man. It is a true and well-attested proverb that a few children are better than a whole family; the calf of every cow in the enclosure is not the largest of them in the meadow. It is not right to complain about one son — it is not proper to quarrel with the Creator; though every slender branch of fruit is fragrant, there is often a son who is not worse than sons. The son who is born after his father dwells comfortably at the paternal hearth; in precedence to his brothers, before he goes into oblivion, something good eventually comes from him. Fiacha Fionnoladh, king of Ireland, left one son as progeny; the peoples of Teamhair rallied to him after Tuathal of Bearbha had been in the womb. His mother bore and taught Tuathal, rearing him till his senses came to him, until Tuathal Teachtmhar of Teamhair made his powerful, vigorous, westward attack. In revenge for his father the king of the Irish fell by him in the battle, from whom he took Ireland from the plain of Midhe, when Feilim of Line had been killed by him. The king of the Irish was left in the womb after the slaying of Cumhall — pay attention to me — a man by whom generosity was revived, Fionn, the princely leader of the Fianna. It was true that Cormac, son of Art, high king of Banbha, was left in the womb; afterwards he got Teamhair of Da Thi; he was in the cave of Ceis being suckled by a she-dog. Aodh ├ô Neill, the prince of Aileach, was left in the womb with nothing in his hand, after the killing of the father of Fal's prince in the conflict upon Magh Macha. That young lad, high king of Bearnas, was left in the womb — comely the progeny — may the sapling, O God, become an oak-tree; may that be, indeed, a true similitude. It is not possible that there will not be a multitude of people with ├ô Domhnaill of Druim Cro; the king from Magh Meadha has few territories that are not related to him. It is not seemly to chide the Connachta for giving help to the Sons of Niall; he is the fair darling of the troop of Ceis, the malt ale even of the Deise. It is no more correct to blame the men of Munster, though they be a numerous company, because of the son of Domhnall; the son of the daughter of Mor Mumhan is the fair oak of the host of the mighty Ulaidh. Of all the men that live by the sea, scarcely one was not a foster-father to the high king of the Kindred of Conall — it is no deception — since the young ox of Bruidhean Da Bhearg was reared in Suibhne's house in the east. Be heedful of your emotions, O women of Ireland: from Fiodh Gaibhle to Gleann Roidh I find no woman of noble family without kinship with ├ô Domhnaill. Though he be for seeking a wife from the women of the Offspring of Murchadh of Maistiu, it is not right for the women of the pure-aled plain of Leinster to make for him. Though I were to search out the province of Connaught from Cuaille an Cheapain to Cill Ro, no noble lady who is not related to him, will ply a slender, bright needle. Goodly his mother, goodly his father, beautiful his head, fair his body; there is no fruit from any purer branch; all false praise is an evil thing. Domhnall, son of Domhnall ├ô Domhnaill, the future king of Teamhair of Da Thi, ploughs his way over the wave of his own shore, he ploughs it in a long ship.