Ossain Sang

Ossain Sang

Sweet is the voice in the land of gold,

And sweeter the music of birds that soar,

When the cry of the heron is heard on the wold,

And the waves break softly on Bundatrore.

Down floats on the murmuring of the breeze

The call of the cuckoo from Cossahun,

The blackbird is warbling among the trees,

And soft is the kiss of the warming sun.

The cry of the eagle of Assaroe

O'er the court of Mac Morne to me is sweet,

And sweet is the cry of the bird below

Where the wave and the wind and the tall cliff meet.

Fin mac Cool is the father of me,

Whom seven battalions of Fenians fear:

When he launches his hounds on the open lea

Grand is their cry as they rouse the deer.