Brian of Banba all alone up from the desert places
Came to stand where the festal throne of the Lord of Thomond’s race is,
Came after tarrying long away till his cheeks were hungerhollow
And his voice grown hoarse in a thousand fights where he called on his men to follow.
He had pillowed his head on the hard tree roots and slept in the sun unshaded,
Till the gold that had shone in his curls was gone and the snow of his brow had faded.
And where he came he was meanliest clad midst the nobles of the nation,
Yet proudly he entered among them all
For this was his brother’s Banquet Hall,
And he was a prince Dalcassian.

Mahon, King of the Clann Dal Cais, throned in his palace, proudly
Drank the mead from a costly glass whilst his poet, harping loudly,
Traced in song his lineage long to the time of ancient story,
And praised the powers of Kennedy’s sons and counted their deeds of glory,
And chanted the fame of the chieftains all that banquet board surrounding, —
But why does he turn to this stranger tall, for whom is his harp now sounding?
“The king," he says, "is champion bold, and bold is each champion brother;
But Brian the youngest,
Is bravest and strongest,
And nobler than any other”

The king stood up on his royal throne and sorrowful was his gazing,
And greatly the envy grew in his heart at the sound of such high appraising;
For Mahon had dwelt in a palace fair, at peace with the land’s invader,
While Brian lurked in the wild cat’s lair and slept where the she-wolf laid her.
Mahon was clad in a robe of silk, the gift of a Danes’ chief’s sending,
The only cloak that Brian had was torn by the brambles’ rending.
Mahon called for the mead and wine from the hands of those that hasted,
But the cold thin wave that the swan flocks sip
Was the only wine that Brian’s lips
For a year, and more, had tasted.

“Brian, my brother” said the king, in a tone of scornful wonder,
“Why dost thou come in beggar guise our palace portals under;
Where hast thou wandered since yesteryear, in what venture of love hast thou tarried;
Come, tell us the count of thy prey of deer and what cattleherds thou hast harried;
Where is thy mantle of silken fold and the jewelled brooch that bound it;
In what wager lost was the band of gold that once thy locks surrounded;
Where hast thou left the courtly train that befitted thy princely station,
The hundred high-born youths I gave,
The chosen sons of the chieftains brave
Of the warriors Dalcassian?”

“I have followed no deer since yesteryear, I’ve harried no neighbour’s cattle;
I have wooed no love, I have played no game but the kingly game of battle;
The Danes were my prey by night and day in their forts of hill and hollow,
And I come from the desert lands alone because none are alive to follow.
Some were slain on the plundered plain and some in the midnight marching,
And some have died of the winter’s cold, and some of the fever parching;
And some have perished by wounds of spears and some by the shafts of bowmen,
And some by hunger, and some by thirst,
Until all were gone, but they slaughtered first
Their tenfold more of their foemen.”

Then the king leaped down from his cushioned throne and he grasped the hand of his brother,
“Brian, though youngest, thou art bravest and strongest, and nobler than any other;
So choose at thy will of my flocks on the hill and take of my treasure golden,
Were it even the ring on my royal hand or the jewelled cloak I’m rolled in."
Brian smiled: "You will need them all as award of bardic measure;
I want no cattle from out your herds, no share of your shining treasure;
But grant me now,” and he turned to look in the listening warriors’ faces —
“A hundred more of the brave Dal Cais
To follow me over plain and pass,
And die as fitteth the Clann Dal Cais,
At war with the outland races.”