The Song of the heads

Alas, O King of Kings,
  Righteous Lord of might;
The saddest of songs we sing,
  Heads in the bitter night.

Gegan's head, roll near,
  Together let us sing,
Have we not given our word
  To make a song for the king.

We three brothers last night,
  Stood in a goodly throng,
Tonight we are but three heads
  Singing a lonesome song.

Last night at supper the king,
  Pledged us man to man,
To sing tonight in his praise
  When the battle was done

Alas, my brothers, alas,
  Though short a night and a day,
In less the King of the Clouds
  Can turn the mighty to clay.

A most pitiful thing,
  He so soon struck down!
His seed has perished from earth,
  Perished is Cashel's renown.

Cormac from the mound of kings
  Ruled Munster crop and herd,
The strong man and the weak
  Obeyed his lightest word.

Before him vats were raised,
  Woodlands of oaktrees bowed,
And princes were made weak
  And beggars were made proud.

And now it is time to be still.
  Quiet your song, it is day;
A last farewell and back
  To the cold stones and the clay.

Source: Lords and Commons, Cuala Press, 1938 (1971 reprint), pp.1-2