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When evening in Eireann was gray, |
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Before the dawn went away, |
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Their footsteps on hills were heard, |
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On journey long without a word. |
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From wilderland to western shore, |
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Through dragon lair and hidden door, |
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From northern waste to southern hill, |
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On darkling woods they walked at will. |
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With Fionn and Oisin, dwarfe and man, |
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Bird and bough and beast in den, |
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With warrior-druid folk, |
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In secret tongues they spoke. |
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A deadly sword, a healing hand, |
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Trumpet voice, a burning brand, |
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Their backs that bent 'neath their load, |
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Those warriors on the road. |
