A beauty of a wondrous land Whose aspects are lovely, Whose view is a fair country, Incomparable in its haze. * * * * The sea washes the wave against the land, Hair of crystal drops from its mane. Wealth, treasures of every hue, Are in the gentle land, a beauty of freshness, Listening to sweet music, Drinking the best of wine. Golden chariots on the sea plain Rising with the tide to the sun, Chariots of silver in the plain of sports And of unblemished bronze. * * * * * At sunrise there will come A fair man illumining level lands, He rides upon the fair sea-washed plain, He stirs the ocean till it is blood. * * * * * Then they row to the conspicuous stone From which arise a hundred strains. It sings a strain unto the host Through long ages, it is not sad, Its music swells with choruses of hundreds. They look for neither decay nor death. There will come happiness with health To the land against which laughter peals. Into Imchiuin [the very calm place] at every season, Will come everlasting joy. It is a day of lasting weather That showers [down] silver on the land, A pure-white cliff in the verge of the sea Which from the sun receives its heat." Manannán, the Irish Neptune, driving in a chariot across the sea, which to him was a flowery plain, meets Bran thereafter, and chants to him twenty-eight more verses about the lovely land of Moy Mell, "the Pleasant Plain," which the unknown lady had described, and they are couched in the same strain. "Though [but] one rider is seen In Moy Mell of many powers, There are many steeds on its surface Although thou seest them not. * * * * * A beautiful game, most delightful They play [sitting] at the luxurious wine, Men and gentle women under a bush Without sin, without crime. * * * * * A wood with blossom and fruit, On which is the vine's veritable fragrance; A wood without decay, without defect, On which are leaves of golden hue." Then, prophesying of the death of Mongan, he sang-- "He will drink a drink from Loch Ló, While he looks at the stream of blood; The white hosts will take him under a wheel of clouds, To the gathering where there is no sorrow."