I dreamt last night that you returned to me;
Gliding through that open window there,
Perched on the end of my bed, all three,
We reunited as the Clan of Lir.

But so ghostly white, I thought you were
Apparitions by my side.
Feathers, where hair once appeared,
And the smell of salt from tumultuous tides.

Singing low, your swan song did not seem to me
To harbour hidden warnings,
Yet when I woke I swore it was a dream,
And for this I'm still in mourning.

Now, if I could listen to your last recitative
By the light of the silvery moon,
I would never have let you rise to leave
Towards a death that came too soon.

Eyes turn black as coal and beaks as yellow as the sun.
No one will love you anymore by the time this spell is done.
Your golden hair falls from your head and white feathers take their place
no one will say I love you or caress your small white face.

To the waters of Loch Derryvaragh for 300 years you will sit.
And then to the straits of Moyle, where murky waters will await.
But the last 300 years you will spend near Erris bay.
The Children of Lir shall be forgotten forever and a day!

Silver rain will beat you down and harsh winds will freeze your feet,
King Lir will forget your names and no longer wish to meet,
His sad swans floating on the frothy brine,
I will console him and his love I’ll claim as mine!

Poor Finnuala, weeping for her brothers there,
Where they promised to meet should this storm tear
Them apart and keep them from one another
She whimpers and cries. She longs for her brothers
Or a helping hand, or a comforting word
Her wings are frozen, she’s just a pathetic bird.
A meagre creature, she’s all but given up.
She sings for her brothers as she rises up.

Somebody. Help me. Anybody out there?
Please God hear me and answer my prayer.
Keep me as a swan as long as you will.,
But bring me my brothers, let them not have been killed.

Oh foolish children with hearts so pure.
Believing in love, a love that endures
A love that conquers and sets fires alight
A love that will bring her brothers back to her tonight!

Voyaging from realm to realm the Cailleach Bheara has aged but 90 years.
She has 50 children by a Gypsy King, whom all the Irish fear.
Although she could have married any Prince, this dark tyrant the God’s choose.
He had mastered the rise of galloping tides to woo this Irish rose.

At least that’s how the Cailleach Bheara tells it, as if it were a great romance!
However, fairies have often whispered rumours of rape and carnal dance. It’s said the Gypsy King, with long dark hair and flaming eyes,
Searched the land like a man possessed and took the Cailleach for his wife.

Her beauty could only be compared with things about which we dream.
With flowing locks of golden hair and eyes of emerald green.
It’s said this savage affair was intoxicating at best,
A desire that shook the heavens and gave neither body rest.

The Gods grew jealous as the Gypsy King pillaged all the land.
They sent a thunderbolt through his body and he died there on the sand.
Now the Callieach weeps and wails and will appear at the end of your bed.
A grey, flitting figure of a woman, carries you into death, it’s said