Of Agrona and the Great Sorrow, Part II

Taranis and his riders came to the field
Of Boughfel and planted their standards
For all the armies of men to see
That the hosts of Afallach had come
To do war with them and bring them down
To the dust.
 
(The tale of the Battle of Boughfel is told in other places, so I will not tell more of it here)
 
Weep, oh Ynys Afallach
So many of thy fair children lay slain
Their blood wetting the meadows
Of the land of strangers
To see the Isle of the Apples never more
Its beautiful shores, its strong mountain walls
The plentiful orchards at harvest time
Branches bending low ere the coming of fall
 
Halls filled with mirth, where hope did shine
Never more will they hear laughter
Carried on a gentle summer breeze
Or the sounding of the bells
When winter snows come and freeze
The lake in the Lady’s garden
Hard as stone in winter’s depths
 
O fair sons of Ynys Afallach
Cochlaín, thou wast bold and strong of heart
But now thy bones litter the fields of men
Séaghdha, one so noble and proud
Yet thou art now food for worms
Caoindealbhán, fair as the spring heather
Alas! thou art no more than ash
Nynniaw, deadly with bow and spear
Lowly beasts now tread upon you without fear
Farewell, fair sons of Ynys Afallach
Farewell until the ending of days