On Sheen's green banks in days of old
A dreadful fight was won.
The tale is by tradition told
Brought down from sire to son.
Two hostile tribes in fierce array
Drew near the chosen stream
Determined each to win the day
And win a glorious name
But ere the shout of war was rallied
A herald fast did ride
Proclaimed aloud to that great crowd
That night brave champions from
Each side the contest should decide.
Trúir 's a cúirear ón Seairc
Fear 's a react ó bóthar Neinín
Annsúd o'Paradar an cómhra cearc
Ar Inse Gaortaidh ar ais ar brúac na Síon
The troops drew near at sound of horn
With murmers rude and rife
And took their posts that sunny morn
To view the dreadful strife
With terrible shouts the battle raged
Reaching from each hill
While hand to hands the foes engaged
And quickly all was stillTreasa