Fairy Tales of the Otherworld

In emerald isles, where legends reside,
Oisín the warrior, with valor and pride.
Son of Fionn, a poet of renown,
His heart untamed, in a mystical town.

From Tír na nÓg, a maiden of light,
Niamh of the Golden Hair, a vision so bright.
Across the sea, on a steed swift and grand,
She came for Oisín, to a mystical land.

Tír na nÓg, where time stands still,
A land of youth, against mortal will.
Oisín and Niamh, their love took flight,
Seven years they lived, in eternal delight.

But longing stirred, for his homeland's call,
Oisín yearned for Ireland, though destined to fall.
Niamh warned him true, "Don't touch the ground,"
"Or mortal years, will swiftly surround."

On his magical steed, he rode the green shore,
Where centuries had passed, and his kin were no more.
An old man he met, struggling with stone,
Oisín's compassion, his fate had sown.

He leaned from his saddle, to lend a strong hand,
The golden steed bucked, on the soil of the land.
The magic was broken, the spell was undone,
Oisín aged in seconds, his race was now run.

Tír na nÓg, where time stands still,
A land of youth, against mortal will.
Oisín and Niamh, their love turned to pain,
A mortal's return, a sorrowful rain.

He spoke of his days, of the Fianna's might,
To Patrick the saint, in fading daylight.
A tale of a love, that spanned mortal years,
A legend of sorrow, and bittersweet tears.

Oisín the poet, his story unfolds,
Of a love that was lost, as time took its hold.
In Ireland's green valleys, his legend remains,
A whisper of magic, in soft, gentle rains.

Ó hoileáin atá faoi cheilt i gcloigeann ceo,
Sheol siad ar sciatháin na sean-laethanta,
Tuatha Dé Danann, cóir geal,
Le draíocht fite fuaite ina solas.

Clann Danú, déithe na sean,
Deirtear a sgéalta i ngach cloch,
Ó dhoirse naofa go sléibhte arda,
Ní bhfaighidh a gcumhacht ársa bás go deo.

Le claíomh Nuada is le neart Dhagda,
D'éiligheadar Éire faoi sholas sámh,
Ó lasadh geal Lugh go lasair Bhríde,
Cogar a gcuid finscéalta gach ainm.

Clann Danú, déithe na sean,
Deirtear a sgéalta i ngach cloch,
Ó dhoirse naofa go sléibhte arda,
Ní bhfaighidh a gcumhacht ársa bás go deo.

Cé gur thit scáthanna agus cathanna raging,
A n-spiorad ar stáitse gan teorainn ama,
I ngach gaoth is gach sruth,
Macalla a n-aisling gan ré.

Clann Danú, déithe na sean,
Deirtear a sgéalta i ngach cloch,
Ó dhoirse naofa go sléibhte arda,
Ní bhfaighidh a gcumhacht ársa bás go deo.

Tuatha Dé, go deo,
Tá a saol draíochta ar chladach na hÉireann.

E-kreiz ar goadeg, Brocéliande,
Emañ kuzhet, ur bed a vurzhudoù.
Derv ha faou, o tiwall ar c'hevrinoù,
Emañ Merzhin, o huchal e speredoù.
Lenn Komper, e-lec'h ma'z eo kouezhet ar c'hleze,
Excalibur, o c'hortoz e zistro.
Viviane, an hudourez, gant he c'hoant,
A zalc'h ar varzh, en he c'hastell a zour.

Brocéliande, ur vro a vraouez,
Emañ ar speredoù, o nijal a-dreuz.
Korriged ha sorserezed, o kanañ o c'hanaouennoù,
Emañ ar varzh, o kontañ e istorion.

Ar Feunteun Barenton, e-lec'h ma'z eo kouezhet ar glav,
A zegas ar c'hoant, d'ar re a zo dall.
An Hent ar Ramoned, o kas d'ar bed all,
Emañ ar varzh, o heuliañ e hent.
Ar Valhepont, e-lec'h ma'z eo kouezhet ar c'hleze,
A zegas ar marv, d'ar re a zo droug.
Tristan hag Izold, o karantez difennet,
A vo bepred, e-barzh ar c'hoad.

Brocéliande, ur vro a vraouez,
Emañ ar speredoù, o nijal a-dreuz.
Korriged ha sorserezed, o kanañ o c'hanaouennoù,
Emañ ar varzh, o kontañ e istorion.

Ar Roc'h ar Skorn, e-lec'h ma'z eo kouezhet ar skorn,
A zegas ar yenijenn, d'ar re a zo tomm.
An Derv a Aour, o tiwall ar c'hevrinoù,
A zalc'h ar varzh, en e bed a hunvreoù.
Emañ ar stered, o lugerniñ e-barzh an noz,
O kontañ istorion, d'ar re a zo selaou.
Brocéliande, ur vro a hud,
A vo bepred, e-barzh hon soñjoù.

Brocéliande, ur vro a vraouez,
Emañ ar speredoù, o nijal a-dreuz.
Korriged ha sorserezed, o kanañ o c'hanaouennoù,
Emañ ar varzh, o kontañ e istorion.

Brocéliande, ur vro a legendoù,
A vo bepred, e-barzh hon kalon.

From islands veiled in misty haze,
They sailed on wings of ancient days,
The Tuatha Dé Danann, fair and bright,
With magic woven in their light.

Children of Danu, gods of old,
Their tales in every stone are told,
From sacred groves to mountains high,
Their ancient power will never die.

With Nuada's sword and Dagda's might,
They claimed Éire in fading light,
From Lugh's bright spear to Brigid's flame,
Their legends whisper every name.

Children of Danu, gods of old,
Their tales in every stone are told,
From sacred groves to mountains high,
Their ancient power will never die.

Though shadows fell and battles raged,
Their spirit on time's endless stage,
In every breeze and every stream,
The echo of their timeless dream.

Children of Danu, gods of old,
Their tales in every stone are told,
From sacred groves to mountains high,
Their ancient power will never die.

Tuatha Dé, forevermore,
Their magic lives on Ireland's shore.

I gCruachain na n-ár, bhí Méabh na rí,
Le súil na saint, ag iarraidh an bhí.
Donn Cúailnge, an tarbh le croí na cumhacht,
A ghlacadh léi, sin a bhí a rún.
Le arm na gConnacht, ag teacht go trom,
Ar Chúige Uladh, le fonn na feirge.
Ach laoch óg, le neart gan teorainn,
Cú Chulainn, ag seasamh go cróga.

Táin Bó Cúailnge, scéal na cogaíochta,
Áit ar bhuail na laochra, le cinniúint na ndaoine.
Neart Chú Chulainn, le guth na finscéalta,
I gcoinne arm naimhde, le bua na crógachta.

Ulaidh go léir, faoi gheasa na ndraíochta,
Lag agus tinn, le cumhacht na folaíochta.
Ach Cú Chulainn, ina aonar ina sheasamh,
Ag cosaint na críche, le misneach gan stad.
Le Gáe Bolga, ina lámh go tapaidh,
Ag tabhairt aghaidh ar na sluaite, gan eagla gan scáth.
Trí chomhrac aonair, le neart na laochra,
Ag tabhairt bua, don tír naofa.

Táin Bó Cúailnge, scéal na cogaíochta,
Áit ar bhuail na laochra, le cinniúint na ndaoine.
Neart Chú Chulainn, le guth na finscéalta,
I gcoinne arm naimhde, le bua na crógachta.

Ó Chonnachtaibh na machaí, ag teacht go gasta,
Le carbaid na cogaíochta, agus croíthe na lasrach.
Fearghas, an rí, le claíomh ina láimh,
Ag treorú na sluaite, faoi spéir na hoíche.
Trí chathanna fíochmhara, agus trialacha crua,
Misneach Chú Chulainn, cróga agus buan.
Ag tabhairt aghaidh ar na naimhde, le neart agus scil,
A chinniúint féin, ag comhlíonadh go bríomhar.

Trí chomhrac aonair, thit na laochra,
Agus finscéal Chú Chulainn, ag fás go mór.
A fhearg scaoilte, radharc uafásach,
Ag casadh taoide an chatha, lena neart go léir.
An Mhorrígan, le sciatháin an phréacháin,
Ag tuar na cinniúna, ag canadh na gcath.
Faoin gníomhartha na laochra, agus deireadh tragóideach,
Áit a meascann an chinniúint, le brón na ndaoine.

Táin Bó Cúailnge, scéal na cogaíochta,
Áit ar bhuail na laochra, le cinniúint na ndaoine.
Neart Chú Chulainn, le guth na finscéalta,
I gcoinne arm naimhde, le bua na crógachta.

An tarbh faighte, na cathanna críochnaithe,
Aistear laoch, buaite go crua.
Ainm Chú Chulainn, go deo geal,
Finscéal greanta, i ndorchadas na hoíche.

O ynysoedd dan orchudd niwlog,
Hwyliasant ar adenydd yr hen ddyddiau,
Y Tuatha Dé Danann, teg a llachar,
Gyda hud wedi'i blethu yn eu golau.

Plant Danu, duwiau gynt,
Mae eu chwedlau ym mhob carreg yn cael eu hadrodd,
O llwyni cysegredig i fynyddoedd uchel,
Ni fydd eu pŵer hynafol byth yn marw.

Gyda chleddyf Nuada a nerth Dagda,
Hawliasant Éire mewn goleuni pylu,
O waywffon lachar Lugh i fflam Brigid,
Mae eu chwedlau yn sibrwd pob enw.

Plant Danu, duwiau gynt,
Mae eu chwedlau ym mhob carreg yn cael eu hadrodd,
O llwyni cysegredig i fynyddoedd uchel,
Ni fydd eu pŵer hynafol byth yn marw.

Er i gysgodion ddisgyn a brwydrau gynddeiriog,
Eu hysbryd ar lwyfan diddiwedd amser,
Ym mhob awel a phob nant,
Adlais eu breuddwyd oesol.

Plant Danu, duwiau gynt,
Mae eu chwedlau ym mhob carreg yn cael eu hadrodd,
O llwyni cysegredig i fynyddoedd uchel,
Ni fydd eu pŵer hynafol byth yn marw.

Tuatha Dé, am byth,
Mae eu hud yn byw ar lan Iwerddon.

In Carterhaugh's green woods so deep,
Where ancient secrets softly sleep,
Young Janet rode, her heart so bold,
A tale of love, yet to unfold.

Tam Lin, Tam Lin, a faerie knight,
By Queen of Seelie, bound in night,
On Hallowe'en, the tithe they claim,
A mortal soul, to feed their flame.

She plucked the rose, she broke the thorn,
A challenge to the fae forlorn,
Tam Lin appeared, with eyes so bright,
A captive prince, in fading light.

Tam Lin, Tam Lin, a faerie knight,
By Queen of Seelie, bound in night,
On Hallowe'en, the tithe they claim,
A mortal soul, to feed their flame.

He told his tale, of mortal birth,
Of faerie tricks, and stolen mirth,
He warned her of the Queen's dark deed,
To sacrifice him, for her greed.

Tam Lin, Tam Lin, a faerie knight,
By Queen of Seelie, bound in night,
On Hallowe'en, the tithe they claim,
A mortal soul, to feed their flame.

At Milescross Wood, the midnight hour,
The faerie train, with fearsome power,
Janet stood fast, her love so true,
To break the spell, and see him through.

They turned him into beast and fire,
A raging bear, a burning pyre,
But Janet held him, firm and fast,
Until the final shape had passed.

Tam Lin, Tam Lin, a faerie knight,
By Queen of Seelie, freed from night,
On Hallowe'en, love broke the chain,
A mortal soul, reborn again.

Naked and cold, he lay at her feet,
Her love's embrace, his soul complete,
They rode away, as dawn did break,
A mortal man, for Janet's sake.

Eus inizi goloet gant brumenn,
Merdeiñ a raent war eskell an amzer gozh,
An Tuatha Dé Danann, kaer ha lugernus,
Gant hud gwisket en o sklêrijenn.

Bugale Danu, doueed gwechall,
Kontet e vez o istorioù e pep maen,
Eus ar c'hoadoù sakr betek ar menezioù uhel,
Ne varvo ket o galloud kozh.

Gant kleze Nuada ha nerzh Dagda,
Goulenn a rejont Éire en ur gouloù o vont da get,
Eus lans lugernus Lugh betek flamm Brigid,
O mojennoù a c'hwezh pep anv.

Bugale Danu, doueed gwechall,
Kontet e vez o istorioù e pep maen,
Eus ar c'hoadoù sakr betek ar menezioù uhel,
Ne varvo ket o galloud kozh.

Daoust ma kouezhe ar skeudoù hag an emgannoù o tarzhañ,
O spered war leurenn difin an amzer,
E pep avel hag e pep red,
Echo o hunvre diamzeret.

Bugale Danu, doueed gwechall,
Kontet e vez o istorioù e pep maen,
Eus ar c'hoadoù sakr betek ar menezioù uhel,
Ne varvo ket o galloud kozh.

Tuatha Dé, da viken,
Bevañ a ra o hud war aod Iwerzhon.

In depths of mist, where legends sleep,
A lady dwells, her secrets deep.
The Lady of the Lake, her name,
In watery halls, she holds her fame.
With gentle hand and mystic grace,
She guards a sword, in this sacred place.

Excalibur, a blade of might,
Forged in starlight, pure and bright.
From ancient hands, a gift bestowed,
A king's destiny, on this path bestowed.
The Lady's touch, a whispered vow,
A hero's journey, starting now.

Through Arthur's reign, the sword did gleam,
A symbol of hope, a warrior's dream.
In battles fought, and victories won,
Excalibur's power, like the rising sun.
But shadows lurked, and darkness crept,
A kingdom's fall, where tears were wept.

Excalibur, a blade of might,
Forged in starlight, pure and bright.
From ancient hands, a gift bestowed,
A king's destiny, on this path bestowed.
The Lady's touch, a whispered vow,
A hero's journey, ending now.

As Arthur's time drew to a close,
The Lady's call, like a gentle prose.
To return the sword, to whence it came,
A sacred duty, in her watery domain.
With heavy heart, the king obeyed,
Excalibur's journey, once more conveyed.

The lake's embrace, a shimmering gleam,
As Excalibur plunged, a fading dream.
The Lady's hand, outstretched and fair,
Claimed the sword, with tender care.
In watery depths, the legend sleeps,
Excalibur's tale, the lake still keeps.

The Lady of the Lake, her secrets deep,
In watery halls, where legends sleep.
Excalibur's tale, forever told.