the king, struck through the heart, fell off his horse and died. With the death of Cairbre his men broke and fled, and the few Fians who survived, even the wounded Oscur, raised a cry of triumph.
Night fell, but a bright moon shone over the plain of death, and by its light those who were living searched for their dead. Hither came Caeilté, looking for his six sons, and found them all lying dead. Hither, too, wandered Oisin, searching for his brave and chivalrous son—"Oscur, who never lied," for so the bards sang of him. At last he found Oscur, leaning on his left arm, his battered shield by his side, his broken spear still in his right hand, and the life-blood streaming from his wounds.
Oisin stood over him in unutterable woe. Then Oscur stretched out his hand to his father and said:
"My father, I thank the gods that you are safe."
But Oisin, because of sorrow and exceeding grief, could speak no word.
Then Caeilté, grieving over his dead sons,
