With the spear to his heart
And the wind in his hair,
To the Men of Dea, and he told them
Of the Fir Bolg warrior Sreng.
To Connacht they did march,
Preparing battlements for war,
Passing the mountain Belgata
To arrive at the field of battle,
At Magh Nia.

The Trinity of the Tuatha,
Badb, Macha and Anann,
Arrived at Temhair
Where the Fir Bolgs did rest.
They cast a mist dark and deep
And summoned showers
Of fire and blood!
The Fir Bolg's engulfed in flame,
Unable to see, unable to speak.

Eleven battalions of the Fir Bolgs
Marched and stood defiant
on the East,
Nuada sent Eochaid the offer,
Eochaid refused,
He would not show defeat.
The war was delayed,
By a quarter of a year,
Armour, swords and spears ready
Until the day of battle came.

From both sides, three times nine hurlers
Entered the battle but they will die.
Four days passed, warriors did fall
And on that day the tide was turned.
The Men of Dea rose up, and fell
On the Fir Bolgs like rain on the Earth.
Eochaid went for a drink,
His men not by his side,
But the Tuatha not far behind.
To the Strand they did go,
Nuada's Sons fought the King,
Dragging him into the sea,
Daggers endlessly piercing!

Leaving a heap of stones where he died,
The dead king now watches the sea.
A victory for the Tuatha.
This was the battle of Magh Tuiread.