Amid the stillness, in the heat
And splendour of the sun: the lisp
Of faint wind in the herbage crisp
Went past them; and around the bare
And foam-striped sand-banks gleaming fair,
The faintly-panting waves were cast
By the wan deep fatigued and vast.

O great was Conn in that dread hour,
And all the Fians feared his power,
And watched, as in a darksome dream,
The warriors meet ... They saw the gleam
Of swift, up-lifted swords, and then
A breathless moment came, as when
The lithe and living lightning's flash
Makes pause, until the thunder's crash
Is splintered through the air.

Loud o'er
The blue sea and the shining shore
Broke forth the crash of arms ... The roll
Of Conn's fierce blows that baffled Goll
On sword and shield resounding rang,
While that old warrior stooped and sprang
Sideways, and swerved, or backward leapt,
As swiftly as the bronze blade swept
Above him and around ... He swayed,
Stumbling, but rose ... But, though his blade
Was ever nimble to defend,
The Fians feared the fight would end