Eithne of the flowing hair, fair of face
and sweet of spirit, bright flame of life and hope
who shines forth in the dark, who endures in the storm.
Child of swift-striking Balor of the burning eye,
mother of Lugh whose wisdom and craft have no peer,
you know well the depth of sorrow and loss.
Daughter of the clan of Fomoire, a house old
and noble; bride you became to far-famed Cian
of the tribe of mighty Danu whose hand we yet see
on the good green land. Eithne called Feada,
queenly one, uniter of family, sustainer
of kin, I greet you with all reverence and honor.