The dagda at his home
Of brugh na boinne
The hall of the morrigu
And cermaits birthplace within
The prison of the grey
Of macha the hill of dabilla
Where the hound of boann did be.
In these halls the sorrow of the dagda!
At one time the dagda made a vat,
For his daughter ainge she was proud,
She decided to create
Her own out of wood and sticks.
Nuadas son gaible found it
And threw it away.
A great shadow and curse
Befell the dagda.

One day a man of connacht
Did come to see him with his wife.
Corrgenn was his name,
Aedh had fallen for his wife.
That great anger exploded
And he killed aedh in response.
Everyone thought the dagda
Would kill him but he did not,
He sat with a troubled brow

And thought about his life.
He spared his life
But there would have to be a toll.
Looking at aedhs body,
He knew what must be done,
To avenge him and to bring peace
To his home and to his son,
And as the morning dawn creeped in
The truth and toll became clear

"Corrgenn take my son and carry him
Upon your back and never let him fall,
Find a gravestone the same size fitting
For my son and bury him there."
Corrgeen spent an age looking for
The stone and the journey was hard,
On loch feabhail he finally had found it
And he rested aedhs body there.
Corrgenn did lift the stone
Above his head

A glimpse of hope in his eye!
But no sooner had he
Lifted the stone he himself fell,
And he died.
The dagda, beside himself with grief
Summoned two of his men
To build a rath around his son
And corrgenn's grave

Imheall and garbhan shaped it
And made it so
The hill of aileac was its name
The hill of signs and of stone
Made by tears of blood.
The sorrow of the dagda.