I. THY large fountain fills the river,
Thy coming will make thy value of little worth,
The death-song of Corroy agitates me.
If the warrior will allure, rough his temper.
And his evil was greater than its renown was great,
To seize the son of Dayry, lord of the southern sea,
Celebrated was his praise before she was entrusted to him.
II. Thy large fountain fills the stream.
Thy coming will cause saddling without haste,
The death-song of Corroi is with me now,
If (the warrior) will allure.
III. Thy large fountain fills the deep.
Thy arrows traverse the strand, not frowning or depressed.
The warrior conquers, great his rank of soldiers,
And after penetrating enters towns
And . . . the pure stream was promptly whitened.
Whilst the victorious one in the morning heaps carnage;
Tales will be known to me from sky to earth,
Of the contention of Corroi and Cocholyn,
Numerous their tumults about their borders, p. 255
Springs the chief o'er the surrounding mead of the somewhat gentle wood.
A Caer there was, love-diffusing, not paling, not trembling.
Happy is he whose. soul is rewarded.