In three days' time, Cuchulain with a moan

Stood up, and came to the long sands alone:

For four days warred he with the bitter tide;

And the waves flowed above him, and he died.

And we'll swear by the thousands who, famished, unfed,
Died down in the ditches, wild-howling for bread;
And we'll vow by our heroes, whose spirits have fled,
And we'll swear by the bones in each coffinless bed,
That we'll battle the Briton through danger and dread;