In the land called Tír na nÓg.
Frae th’ days of aulden wonders,
Frae th’ days of that first dawning,
Sin th’ days o’ a’ creation,
Frae th’ corners of th’ continent,
To th’ edges of th’ brim,
Across the Seven Seas,
Tis th’ nearest thing tah flying
Tha’ mortal man hath done.
Tis th’ nearest thing tah flying
Tha’ mortal man hath done.
Tis th’ wind th’ sail’s a fillin’,
and th’ bow that splits th’ waves,
and leaves th’ ghostly wake behind,
across the darkly deep,
Tis the landfall we’re a wanting,
An’ th’ trade winds that we seek.
An’ th’ trade winds that we seek.
Th’ tales o’ Leviathan sulking in the deep,
An’ legends of th’ beast, dancing in th’ lightning ‘n’ th’ tunder,
Legions of th’ winged ones striking with their claws,
An’ terror frae th’ frightful dreams tha’ haunt oor every nights,
I promise ye, tis a’ true, as true as th’ light o’ day.
When th’ Ancient Queen walked upon the land
And breathed her precious breath, an’ spake unto the wind,
Frae her first tah her last, as she sat upon her throne,
In the land called Tír na nÓg.
