| Across the dewy morning hills of Erin
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| Rode Niamh Chinn Oir on a snow-white steed
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| To Oisin, poet of the Fianna
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| For she fain would this mortal wed
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| Ride with me to the fairyland of Tír na nÓg
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| For I have long loved you said she
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| And Oisin taken with her beauty
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| He bade farewell to his company
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| They rode through stormy regions far beyond the sea
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| To a land where time had ne’er its harvest reaped
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| And for an age there Oisin lived contented
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| Till longing for his comrades made him weep
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| I cannot help but read the sad dreams in your eyes
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| So you may return to your country
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| And take my blessing with this one command
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| 'Do not dismount from your fairy steed'
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| But when at last he reached that misty island
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| So strange a sight did meet his puzzled frown
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| For Oisin rode as a giant among the people
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| And nowhere were the Fianna to be found
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| He learned from a gathering of workers
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| Together straining with a heavy weight
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| That centuries before his friends had perished
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| Which painful tidings filled him with despair
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| As payment for the news that we have told to you
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| Pray help us this heavy stone to move
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| For if your strength can match your mighty stature
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| Scarce more than a touch enough should prove
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| But the saddle tore as Oisin leaned to help them
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| And sorely he upon the ground was thrown
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| He quickly changed into an aged man
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| And ne’er again laid eyes on Tír na nÓg |