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'It is but a little while ago that the inhabitants of the Ness, who are said to have preserved faint traditions of their origin from Lochlin called also in Ireland, Lochlan or the North, regarded themselves as being of better descent than their neighbours the Gaels.
They fought for nine hours; and then the son of the king of Lochlin stopped, gave up his claim, and left the field. Next day the son of the king of Spain fought six hours, and yielded his claim. On the third day the son of the king of Nyerfói fought eight hours, and stopped. The fourth day the son of the king of Greece fought six hours, and stopped.
There was a King of Lochlin, who had three daughters, and three giants stole them, and carried them down under the earth; and a wise man told the King that the only way to get them back was to make a ship that would sail over land or sea. So the King said that anybody who would make such a ship should marry his eldest daughter.
During the contest we have endeavoured to describe, three hundred and ten years had passed since the warriors of Lochlin first landed on the shores of Erin. Ten generations, according to the measured span of adult life, were born, and trained to arms and marshalled in battle, since the enemy, "powerful on sea," first burst upon the shield-shaped Isle of Saints.
"A serpent which coils, And with fury boils, From Germany coming with arm'd wings spread, Shall subdue and shall enthrall The broad Britain all, From the Lochlin ocean to Severn's bed. "And British men Shall be captives then To strangers from Saxonia's strand; They shall praise their God, and hold Their language as of old, But except wild Wales they shall lose their land."
Ride to M'Ilduy, Major Dalgetty, and tell him to charge as he loves Lochaber return and bring our handful of horse to my standard. They shall be placed with the Irish as a reserve." As meets a rock a thousand waves, so Inisfail met Lochlin.
Every man was satisfied, and knew that she was the woman. Then all the princes and great men spoke up, and said to the son of the king of Emania: "You'll have to fight now for her before we let her go with you." "I'm here before you, ready for combat," answered the prince. Then the son of the king of Lochlin stepped forth. The struggle began, and a terrible struggle it was.
Like two deep streams from high rocks meeting, mixing, roaring on the plain; loud, rough and dark in battle meet Lochlin and Innis-fail. chief mixes his strokes with chief, and man with man; steel clanging sounds on steel. Helmets are cleft on high. Blood bursts and smokes around. Strings murmur on the polished yews.
Now the youngest son went to the town where the King of Lochlin lived with the daughters he had got back from the giants; and he hired himself to work at blowing the bellows for a smith. And the King's oldest daughter ordered the smith to make her a golden crown like that she had when she was with the giant, or she would cut off his head. The bellows-blower said he would do it.
O soothe my soul from war. Let mine ear forget in the sound the dismal noise of arms. Let a hundred harps be near to gladden the king of Lochlin. He must depart from us with joy. None ever went sad from Fingal. The lightening of my sword is against the strong in fight. Peaceful it lies by my side when warriors yield in war."
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