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