"A woeful shout, O a woeful shout the waves are making on the strand;
they that took hold of comely Cael, a pity it is he went to meet them.
"A woeful crash, O a woeful crash the waves are making on the strand to
the north, breaking against the smooth rock, crying after Cael now he is
gone.
"A sorrowful fight, O a sorrowful fight, the sea is making with the
strand to the north; my beauty is lessened; the end of my life is
measured.
"A song of grief, O a song of grief is made by the waves of Tulcha Leis;
all I had is gone since this story came to me. Since the son of
Crimthann is drowned I will love no one after him for ever; many a king
fell by his hand; his shield never cried out in the battle."
After she had made that complaint, Credhe laid herself down beside Cael
and died for grief after him. And they were put in the one grave, and
it was Caoilte raised the stone over them.
And after that great battle of the White Strand, that lasted a year and
a day, there was many a sword and shield left broken, and many a dead
body lying on the ground, and many a fighting man left with a foolish
smile on his face.
And the great name that was on the armies of the World went from them to
the Fianna of Ireland; and they took the ships and the gold and the
silver and all the spoils of the armies of the World. And from that time
the Fianna had charge of the whole of Ireland, to keep it from the Fomor
and from any that might come against it.
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