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Conn was in Teamhair at the Rath of the Kings,

The dawn of a blistering sun,

With his three Druids with him,

Maol, Bloc and Bhuice;

And three poets, Ethain,

Corb and Cesarn.

Looking for people of the Sidhe.

He stood upon a stone,

And it screamed under his feet.

The screams were heard

All over the lands of Teamhair.

"Where has it come from

And why did it scream?"

Conn asked his druid

With a vacant stare,

No answer revealed till the end

Of fifty-three days.

The stone is the Lia Fail,

From the lands of Falias,

In Teamhair it is and will be forever,

And if no king comes to the end

Of the gathering

There will be drought

And suffering in that year.

And while they waited

A mist of blackness arose,

A figure in the darkness,

Noise of a rider coming forth,

The rider threw three spears!

Each one faster than the last!

And at the sound of his name

The rider stopped.

He came to them

And bade them welcome.

They came to an ancestral plain,

A king's rath, and a golden tree

At its door,

And inside the rath, a grand hall

And a roof of white bronze.

So they went into the house,

The Rider in his Ancient Chair,

The reflection of the sun

On his shining face.

That woman is the Kingship of Ireland forever,

Conn you will fight a hundred battles before you die.

And I, I am the Sun!

I am Lugh of the Long Hand!