A Oisín,
is Fada Do Shuan
"A Oisín, is fada do shuan,
éirigh suas is éist an salm;
ó tharnig do lúth 's do rath,
do chuitheá cath is gleo garbh."
"Do thairnig mo lúth is mo rath
ó nach maireann cath ag Fionn;
i gcléirchibh ní fhuil mo spéis,
ná ceol dá n-éis ní binn liom."
"Ní chualais a gcomhmaith de cheol
ó thús domhain mhóir gos a-nocht;
tá tú ársaidh aimhghlic liath,
cé do dhíoltá cliar ar cnoc."
"Do-chuala ceol 's fearr ná a gceol,
gé mór mholas tú an chliar:
scolgarnach luin Leitreach Laoigh
's an fhaoidh do-níodh an Dord Fiann.
Smólach guithbhinn Ghleanna an Scáil,
monghar bárc a; buain le tráigh;
ba binne liom trost na gcon
ná do scol, a chléirigh cháidh.
Dá ghadhar déag do bhí ag Fionn,
'n uair do léigthí fá Ghlionn Raith;
ba binn liom a n-oifig chiúil,
's a n-aghaidh ón tSiúir a-mach.
'N uair do shuidheadh Fionn ar cnoc,
'sheinntí gan locht an Dord Fiann;
a' chuireadh 'na gcodladh na sluaigh...
Mo-nuar! Ba binne ná an chliar."
Oisín,
Your Sleep is Long
"Oisín, your sleep is long,
rise up and hear the psalm;
since your vigor and usefulness are over,
your fights and fierce battles fought."
"My vigor and usefulness are over
because Fionn's men are no more;
my interest is not in priests,
nor sweet to me any music hearafter."
"You never heard such good music,
from the great world's birth till now;
you are old, foolish, and gray,
though once you paid bards on the hills."
"The music heard was better than theirs,
for all that you praise the priests:
the warbling of the blackbird of Calf Slope
and the sound of the Drone of the Fianna.
The sweet-voiced thrush of Shadow Glen,
the roar of boats reaping the shore;
sweeter to me was the hounds' howl
than your bellow, oh pious priest.
Two dogs and ten, Fionn owned,
when he'd unleash them in Fern Glen;
sweet to me was the office they sang,
their faces set away from the Siúir.
When Fionn would sit down in the hills,
faultlessly the Fianna's Drone was played;
putting multitudes to sleep...
My grief! It was sweeter than the priests."