Ungoliant

Evil incarnate from the depths of night,
a monstrous creature that hungers for light.
Corrupted by Melkor to do as he says,
this hideous spider, unwillingly obeys.

Telperion and Laurelin shone brightly this night,
these trees of the Gods, created for light.
All around Valmar shone silver and gold.
Melkor seen this and his grew cold.

Over the fields of Valinor she came;
the fear of Melkor drove her insane,
to the mound where the trees did grow.
Melkor struck both with a mighty blow.

Their sap poured forth as if it were blood.
Ungoliant drank as fast as she could.
All across Valinor darkness did reign.
Their evil achieved: the trees lay slain.

The Morrigan's Call

I fall to my knees, I await my death.
A fallen warrior, hear my last breath.
I fought so fierce, I fought with pride.
Now I am just another who died.

Who will care for my child? Who will care for my wife?
I leave them behind at the end of my life.
I long to stay and watch my child grow,
but I am dead and I must go.

Téir Abhaile Riú

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
is cuma cé dhein a Mhary,
Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
is cuma cé dhein a Mhary,
Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Pós an píobaire, pós an píobaire,
pós an píobaire, a Mhary,
Pós an píobaire, i dtus an oíche
,s beidh sé agat ar maidin.

Pós an píobaire, pós an píobaire,
pós an píobaire, a Mhary,
Pós an píobaire, i dtus an oíche
,s beidh sé agat ar maidin.

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
is cuma cé dhein a Mhary,
Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
is cuma cé dhein a Mhary,
Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Tá do mharagadh,
Níl mo mharagadh,
Tá do mharagadh déanta,
Níl mo mharagadh,
Tá do mharagadh,
Níl mo mharagadh déanta!

Tá do mharagadh,
Níl mo mharagadh,
Tá do mharagadh déanta,
Níl mo mharagadh,
Tá do mharagadh,
Níl mo mharagadh déanta!

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
is cuma cé dhein a Mhary,
Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú,
téir abhaile riú a Mhary,
téir abhaile riú ,s fan abhaile
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
is cuma cé dhein a Mhary,
Is cuma cé dhein é nó nár dhein,
mar atá do mharagadh déanta.

Wolfe Tone

Born in occupied Dublin town, as the sun shone down on tyranny,
Wolfe Tone grew up a privileged man, receiving a Trinity college degree.
He despaired for his fellow countrymen under the rule of the British crown.
When they rose up to claim their land, the British always beat them down.

The society of (united) Irishmen he founded in 1791.
They called for freedom from the crown. They wanted justice to be done.
Outlawed they were for their noble views. Wolfe Tone was exiled from his land.
All talk of freedom and liberty was forbidden and completely banned.

He fought the fight he knew was right.
For liberty he would give his life.
His cause was just, his reasons fair:
to free poor Eireann from despair.

In Paris he got the support he craved: troops and supplies to aid his fight!
The French would help the Irish cause; the flame of hope was burning bright.
But not for long I’m sad to say, the British knew both where and when.
Their spies had told them all and more; this rebellion failed again!

Peasants armed with farming tools, filled with honour, strength and pride,
faced the might of British steel. Thirty thousand Irish died.
Wolfe Tone was captured. He cut his throat; he used his own kitchen knife.
“After such heroic a sacrifice, it is no great effort to add my life.”

He fought the fight he knew was right.
For liberty he would give his life.
His cause was just, his reasons fair:
to free poor Eireann from despair.

The Very Wild Rover

I’ve been the wild rover for many’s a year,
and I’ve spent all my money on whiskey and beer
and now I’m returning with gold in great store,
and I never will play the wild rover no more.

And it’s no, nay, never!
No, nay, never, no more
will I play the wild rover.
No, never, no more.

I went to an alehouse I used to frequent
and I told the landlady my money was spent.
I asked her for credit, she answered me “Nay”,
saying “Custom like yours I can have any day”.

And it’s no, nay, never!
No, nay, never, no more
will I play the wild rover.
No, never, no more.

I took from my pocket ten sovereigns bright
and the landlady’s eyes opened wide with delight.
She said “I have whiskeys and wines of the best,
and the words that I told you were only in jest.”

And it’s no, nay, never!
No, nay, never, no more
will I play the wild rover.
No, never, no more.

I’ll go home to my parents, tell them what I’ve done,
and I’ll ask them to pardon their prodigal son,
and when they have kissed me, as oft-times before,
I never will play the wild rover no more.

And it’s no, nay, never!
No, nay, never, no more
will I play the wild rover.
No, never, no more.

And it’s no, nay, never!
No, nay, never, no more
will I play the wild rover.
No, never, no more.

 Cuchulainn

The Hound of Culann, the Hound of Ulster,
he is of the otherworld.
His father is God, Lugh Lamheada,
his mother Dectire is mortal.

Culann the smith was holding a feast
for the Ard Ri Conchobhar.
His mighty Hound had been unleashed
to guard the fortress’ mighty door.

Setanta arrived late at the gates.
He did not know of Culann’s Hound.
The Hound attacked and met its fate.
It lay there dead upon the ground.

Culann was angered when he learned,
his favourite Hound was no more,
but Setanta swore he’d stay at night
to guard the fortress’ mighty door.

He took up arms on the day,
which Cathbad declared auspicious.
He took up arms on that day,
would become famous but short lived.

On his first battle foray,
he killed the sons of Nechtin Seine.
Also on that fateful day,
he took his first battle frenzy.

His body begins to twist and turn.
His flesh revolves within his skin.
His features turn red one by one
and the slaying then begins.

He returned to Eamhain Macha
and threatened to destroy the town.
The naked women were then brought forth.
He then began to calm down.

He fell in love with Emer.
Her father was appalled.
“No warrior shall be with her
unless by Domhnall he is called.”

He went to train with Domhnall
and learned from him all that he could.
“You must go and train with Scathach.”
He bowed his head and said he would.

Having learned the martial arts,
he returned to claim the hand of Emer.
Her father, he quickly refused.
Cuchulainn showed his battle temper.
He entered the fortress
and left many of the warriors dead.
Emer’s father killed himself.
The lovers were made to wed.

Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann,
Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann,
Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann,
he is the son of a God.
Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann,
Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann,
Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann;
serpents and dragons he fought.

Cuchulainn solely defended Ulster
during the mighty war and tain.
When Maeve of Connaught invaded,
he stood his ground despite the pain.
He is called a tragic hero.
With Caladin, his Sword,
he killed his best friend Ferdiad
at the battle of the Ford.

Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann,
Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann,
Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann,
he is the son of a God.
Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann,
Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann,
Cuchulainn, the Hound of Culann;
serpents and dragons he fought.

In Cuchulainn’s final fight,
a javelin was thrown at him.
It sliced his belly like a knife
and caused his innards to fall out.

He staggered to a nearby lake,
where he took a final drink.
A raven, who was drinking his blood,
tripped over his intestines.

The hero gave a last great laugh
and tied himself against a stone.
He faced his enemies standing up,
but he knew his life was quickly going.

For three days the foe were scared
until a crow perched on his arm.
An otter began to drink his blood.
“Cuchulainn is dead”, is what they said.

Diarmuid And Grainne

The years they passed like a flowing stream
in a highland vale shrouded in green.
The Fianna marched with Fionn at their helm,
though older and wiser this lord of the realm.
He was loyal to his king, Cormac Mac Art
and to his daughter would give his heart.
Her name was Grainne, noble and fair,
but to marry Fionn she would not dare.

A feast was prepared in Tara’s great halls,
marriage banners adorned on the walls.
Grainne sat pale as the feast began
then she spied Diarmuid and to him she ran.
“My heart is filled with longing for you”
she whispered to Diarmuid, he knew not what to do.
“Grainne, so fair, with eyes like the sun,
please, do not tempt me; do not anger Fionn.”

She did not listen and she did not care;
she enchanted Diarmuid with her fiery stare.
He was under a geis to do what she pleased,
(though) he did not resist or ask for release.
During the night when the Fianna did sleep,
through Tara’s great halls, the lovers did creep.
They fled through the night, to where they knew not,
away from Fionn. They dared not stop.

The cry of hounds they heard in the night.
They ran until they were far from sight.
Days became weeks and still they fled;
if caught by Fionn, they would both be dead.
One night as they lay in a forest so dark,
they pledged their love, gave each other their heart.
They made love that night on a bed of grass,
two lovers united, never to part.

For a year and a half, the chase went on.
Wherever Fionn looked, the lovers were gone.
They were aided by Aengus, many a time.
He was father of Diarmuid, a warrior fine.
Aengus grew tired of this bitter pursuit;
he met Fionn and the king to try end the dispute.
Neither were pleased, but they did agree.
They could live in peace; they were now free.

Fionn relented and gave them some land.
They lived in peace and all was grand.
Years passed by and the lovers grew old;
they had four sons who grew mighty and bold.
Diarmuid longed to go hunting with Fionn,
like in the old days, when they were young.
One fateful night, he opened the door;
there stood Fionn; they were friends once more.

There was feasting that night and stories told.
The two merry men remembered the battles of old.
They planned to go hunting at first light,
though Diarmuid heard cries throughout the night.
The Boar was a beast he would not hunt,
from the wildest swine to the smallest runt.
To kill it would bring his own demise.
This curse he had carried all his life.

When morning came, Diarmuid set out.
He remembered those cries and was filled with doubt.
He came upon Fionn at the top of a hill.
There was blood on his hands; he looked ready to kill.
“A boar is loose, it has killed my hound.”
Fionn pointed to the beast that lay on the ground.
There then came a crash and the boar attacked.
It struck Diarmuid hard and broke his back.

As he fell down, he stabbed the boar.
He killed the beast; it was no more.
“Fionn, help me, I’m dying and you have the gift
of healing, get water, I’m starting to drift.”
Fionn ran to the stream and cupped his hand,
but the water fell through and soaked into the sand.
He tried again, this time with success,
but when he returned Diarmuid was dead.

Grainne fell ill when she heard he was dead.
She cursed Fionn and Fianna, oh, how her heart bled.
“Diarmuid, sweet Diarmuid, I will always love thee;
I will never forget the way you loved me.”
She lived on her own for some time on her land,
until Fionn did come to ask for her hand.
This time she agreed; Fionn had mended his ways.
They went to Kildare to see out their days.