A mighty salmon, young and vigorous.
Escaping every danger and snare, The scars of hawk and spear,
Are on me still. I was known in every pool,
When I was caught by the King’s fisherman.
Carried to the queen’s feast,
Eaten, I entered her womb. I remember each word that was said.
All that was done in Ireland.
Voices carried on the wind
Have settled like gold on the land. I was born Tuan the seer,
Son of Cairell, son of Muredach.
But once I was Tuan, son of Starn, son of Sera, son of Partholon’s brother.
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