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