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Here, too, is MacMartin rising high above his whole line. His dark locks hand around his face and cover his cheeks, and his dark eyes shine like the start, while his neck rivals the white flowers. His father and a great force of dependants accompany him, and an illustrious company of his brethren in their ranks surround him on every side. He himself in variegated array advances with lofty mien. The garter ribbons hanging at his leg were dyed with Corycian saffron, and with the tint of the Tyrian shell, as was his plaid. The crest of his helmet glows with floating plumes, and the trappings of his mounted powder-horn gleam in shining brass. But his sister had embroidered his tunic with red gold, and a double line of purple went round his terrible shoulders. Mighty of limb, mighty in strength, he could uproot the old ash-tree, or with his teeth alone tear away the hard iron. Whenever he turns his head and neck his arms rattle, and the hollow rocks seem to moan, and as he treads the plain the earth groans under his weight.

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Tribes of the Erainn

The Clan MacMartin (Cloinn Mhàrtainn) gained a reputation in Scotland of being very cunning. The origin of the Highland saying: "Sliochd nan sionnach - Clann Mhartainn" ("Race of the foxes - Clan Martin")comes from them. Consequently, a fox’s fox's nickname in Gaelic is a Gillie; more specifically a "Gille-Martainn" or Martin's Gillie.