By the light of suns afar
And the guiding, distant star;
By the mystic new-born moon
And the lilt of magic rune,
You are freed from the ill spell.
Take your swords and let us go,
From this place of death and woe;
Leave this shadowy land behind
And the words that hold and bind:
Now my bidding breaks the spell.
The Fians rose, and with great gladness found that their strength had returned to them. They surrounded Ethne, and with deep gratitude thanked her for the service she had rendered them. Then, taking swords and shields in hand, they were preparing to leave that house of ill-omen, when, to the unutterable horror of Fionn and the other men, and before they could prevent him, Conan mac Morna suddenly raised his sword and with one blow severed beautiful Ethne's head from her body.
For a moment the Fians stood aghast. They knew Conan to be a boaster and sometimes they had even thought him lacking in courage, but they never deemed him capable
