Mannanán questions Mongán: How goes it on the bounds of my Western shores Since the arrogant "Emperor of the Gael" Has met his fate and heard his Bean ShÍdhe wail? Such a d**h fitting For granting gifts of gold To the followers of the buachaill dé Elevating them to such haughty heights That they do deny us our inheritance Mongáin replies: His family be in ruins All save the spawn of Gormlaith A son of Ború. Who did die broken too How Ironic! Rudderless be Éire's People Kings in Opposition all Their fall be at hand
Soon will come their doom Mannanán to the Gael: No one to lead you now Muintir na nGael None shall, for you have turned your backs On the gods of your people Strife shall reek havoc across your lands (For a millennium) And ye will stare into the very face of ye'er doom The Ollamh, File and Bard Are being driven from the courts of the kings By the followers of the young god Whose strength is on the rise It is not so easy to turn your back On those who have kept ye safe Solely for purchase of profit and power