Soft his skin, no blemish,
Fault, nor spot it flawed;
Small his chin, and steady,
Brave his brow, and broad.

Straight he seemed, and stainless;
Twixt his throat and chin
Straying scarlet berries
Touched with red his skin.

Oft, that sight recalling,
Findabar would cry:
"Ne'er was half such beauty,
Naught its third came nigh!"

To the bank he swam, and to Ailill was thrown, with its berries, the
tree's torn limb:
"Ah! how heavy and fair have those clusters grown; bring us more," and
he turned to swim;
The mid-current was reached, but the dragon was roused that was guard
to that rowan-tree;
And it rose from the river, on Fraech it rushed: "Throw a sword from
the bank!" cried he.
And no man on the bank gave the sword: they were kept by their fear of
the queen and the king;
But her clothes from her Finnabar stripped, and she leapt in the river
his sword to bring.
And the king from above hurled his five-barbed spear; the full length
of a shot it sped: