Unerring in battle is my arm: my
sword, as the lightning of heaven.

Ronnan the warriour came; and
much he threatened Durstan.

But, saith Euran the servant of
gold, Ronnan! by the gate of the north
shall Durstan this night carry thy fair-one
away. Accursed, answers Ronnan, be this arm if death meet him not
there.

Connan! saith Euran, this night
shall the stranger carry thy sister away.
My sword shall meet him, replies Connan,
and he shall lie low on earth.

The friends met by night, and they
fought. Blood and sweat ran down
their limbs as water on the mossy rock.
Connan falls; and cries, O Durstan,
be favourable to Rivine!--And is it my
friend, cries Ronnan, I have slain? O
Connan! I knew thee not.

He went, and he fought with Durstan.
Day began to rise on the combat,
when fainting they fell, and expired.
Rivine came out with the morn;
and--O what detains my Ronnan!