If my health is spared, I'll be long relating
Of that boat that sailed out from Anach Cuain
And the keening after of mother and father
As the laying out of each corpse was done

Oh king of graces who died to save us
It was a small affair for but one or two
But a boatload bravely on came they sailing
Without storm or rain to be swept to doom

The boat sprang a leak and left all those people
And frightened sheep out adrift on the tide
It beats all telling what fate befell them
Eleven strong men and eight women to die

Men who could manage the plough and harrow
To break the fallow and scatter seed
And women whose fingers were deft and nimble
To spin fine linen and cloth to weave

Young boys were lying when crops were ripening
From the strength of youth they were born to lay
In their wedding clothes for their wake they robed them
Oh king of glory, man's hope is vain

May burning mountains come tumbling down
On that place of drowning may curses fall
For many a soul it is filled with mourning
And left without hope of a bright day's dawn
The cause of their fate was no fault of sailing
It was the boat that failed them the Caislean Nuadh
And it left me to make with a heart that's breaking
This lamentation for Anach Cuain