THE KING OF IRELAND'S SON
Now all away to Tir na n' Og are many roads that run,
But he has ta'en the longest lane, the King of Ireland's son.
Where Aongus goes there 's many a rose burns red 'mid shadows dun;
No rose there is will draw his kiss, the King of Ireland's son.
And yonder where the sun is high Love laughs amid the hay,
But smile and sigh have passed him by, and never make delay.
And here (and O! the sun is low!) they're glad for harvest won,
But naught he cares for wheat or tares, the King of Ireland's son!
And you have flung love's apple by, and I'm to pluck it yet;
But what are fruits of gramarye with druid dews beset?
Oh, what are magic fruits to him who meets the Lianan sidhe?
Or hears athwart the distance dim Fionn's horn blow drowsily?
The star is yours to win or lose, and me the dusk has won,
He follows after shadows, the King of Ireland's son.
