all the plains are heavy, hearing the word that is a wound.

What way will a simple man tell of him? Even Nera from the Sidhe could
not do it; he is not made much of now; our learned one is not the light
of our life, now he is hidden away from us.

He that used to keep us living is dead; he that was our rightful head
has died from us; he has died from us that was God's messenger.

The knowledgeable man that used to put fear from us is not here; the
teller of words does not return to us; the teacher is gone from us
that taught silence to the people.

The whole world was his; it is a harp without its strings; it is a
church without its abbot.

Colum rose very high the time God's companies rose to meet him; it
is bright the angels were, attending on him.

It is short his life was, it is little used to satisfy him; when the
wind blew the sheet against him on the sand, the shape of his ribs
could be seen through it. He was the head of every gathering; he was
a dun of the book of the law; he put a flame in the district of the
north, he lightened the district of the west; the east was his along
with it; he did not open his heart to every company. Good his death;
he went with God's angels that came to meet him.

He has reached to Axal of his help and to the troops of the archangels;
he has reached to a place where night is not seen; he has reached to
a plain where music has not to be born; where no one listens to