Hello and welcome to all my little sleepy listeners on this beautiful starry night.
I'm going to tell you a story that you might not have heard before.
And it's a story from long,
Long ago.
In a land far,
Far away.
Where,
Once upon a time,
There lived a warrior.
Brave and true.
This warrior's name was that of Oshin.
And he was known far and wide for his skills as a hunter.
His bravery as a warrior.
His artistry as a poet and his voice in song as sweet as a blackbird at dawn.
Oisin and his band of men were known as the Fianna.
And they were led by Oisín's father.
The great and valiant Fionn MacCool.
In the days of spring and summer,
The forests rang out with the shouts of their hunting.
And the nights echoed with their songs.
And as the sun began to lower in the sky,
The Fianna spent the golden days of autumn hunting the great stags across the emerald hills.
And foraging for wild berries and hazelnuts.
Winters were hard even for the Fianna.
Days were cold and nights were colder.
The days were dark and the nights were even darker.
Enduring the darkest and coldest depths of winter.
Oisin and his haunting party.
Were resting near the shores of Lough Lehan.
The rolling hills surrounded the Fianna.
Were a canvas of frost.
And not a sound could be heard in the stillness of the winter forest.
It was as if all the birds and creatures of the forest had vanished.
And all that remained.
Was an eerie silence.
Be sure called.
And a dense,
Low fog.
On one particular night.
Something strange happened.
The winter gloom began to break.
And the men lifted their heads in wonder and surprise.
As across the waves.
Came a magnificent white horse.
The hooves of the horse barely making a sound as it stepped down onto the frozen shore of the lake.
Silver tassels shimmered and dangled from the polished saddle.
And beads of emeralds dangled from the reins.
The faena gasped at the beauty and brilliance of this fine steed,
Whose breath billowed from flared nostrils into the frosty winter air.
Upon its back.
There sat Niamh.
Crowned in golden light,
With long hair as black as a starless night,
Cascading down her shoulders,
And eyes as green as the wintry sea.
Níobh was from the faraway land of Tír na nÓg.
A land where no mortal had ever seen.
But had heard of.
For years and years.
Oisin and his band of warriors rose to their feet in humble adoration.
Oisin stepped forward,
But he could not speak.
For he was dazzled by her radiance in the frosty winter's light.
Niamh wore a band of snowflakes that glittered on her forehead and her gown shimmered with pearls.
When she spoke.
The Fianna dropped to their knees.
I have travelled across the sea to find you,
Oisin.
She said.
For you are a warrior whose bravery and poetry are known even in my land of Tir na nÓg.
And in that moment as the pale winter sun fell behind the lowest hill and the frost glistened with a silvery light.
Or sheen.
And Neaf.
Fell in love.
Completely enchanted by one another.
That night Niamh sat with Oisín and the Fianna,
Round a crackling fire.
And spoke of the perpetual beauty of Tyrn an Orc.
A land that no mortal had ever seen.
But a land that had been told of in many a story to young and old.
They shared many a song and story,
Poetry and prose.
They laughed and cried at the tales that were shared.
And felt the warmth between their hearts.
We sing from our hearts to the stars above.
We listen to the fire crackle.
We feel the love flowing from our hearts.
We give thanks to the forest and the rivers.
We give thanks to the forest and the rivers the next morning in the icy chill of dawn.
Oisín climbed onto the white horse behind Niamh.
They rode over snow-capped mountains and frozen rivers.
I see rocks and shimmering lakes.
When they came to the wild and stormy sea.
The white steed did not stop.
Its feet scarcely touching the roaring icy waves as they crossed the sea.
And as the salty air whipped against his face.
Oisin began to forget who he was.
And what it was that he was leaving behind.
As the two travelled onwards.
To the land of Tir nan Og.
Now winters in Tiernanowk were something magical.
And in this snorkiest paradise,
Oisin and Niamh lived in blissful harmony.
Never did they run short of food to eat,
Or wood for the fire.
And never again did Oisin feel the ache of winter's chill in his bones.
And the months.
And the years.
They melted away.
There was no sickness or sorrow.
There was no need for battle.
Only warmth endless feasting and an ease to life.
Now Tuath Síne felt as though only three short,
Joyful years had passed in his time an Tír na nÓg.
And though Oisín had forgotten his past life,
It sometimes came back in his dreams.
There he was with Fionn his father and all his brothers and friends.
They laughed and joked or hunted with reckless speed,
And Oisín would wake up suddenly and cry out in grief.
For all the loved faces had vanished and were lost in his dreams.
Early one morning,
Oisin said to Niamh,
It's no good.
Each day I remember more and more.
Niamh,
I must go back to the land of Ireland to see my father and my friends.
Oh McGraw,
McGree!
There's nothing to go back for.
Niamh said.
For you have been,
In Tirna Nog,
For 300 years now.
Your father and your friends.
Are now all dead and gone.
Oh,
Sure,
That cannot be true,
Laughed Oisin.
I have only been here three years.
I must go,
Niamh,
Just for one day and a night.
So reluctantly.
And with a heavy heart.
Niyav granted Arshin permission.
To visit the land of Ireland.
But she gave him a warning.
That would tell his fate.
She lent him her magical white horse,
But cautioned him.
To never let his feet touch the mortal soil of Ireland.
For if he did,
The 300 years that he had been away would instantly catch up with him.
Then she kissed him tenderly.
But her eyes were full of shadows.
May the wind be always at your back,
McGraw-McCree,
She said.
Oisin mounted the horse and was gone.
In a flicker of gold and green.
May the wind be always at your back.
My true love May the wind be always at your back.
My true love The white steed galloped with Oisin back across the wild sea.
And though it pranced as lightly as ever.
Oisin felt no joy in his heart.
Grey wintry clouds smothered the horizon as he neared the land of Ireland.
Thunder rumbled over the hills and an icy fog gathered around him.
When the horse finally came into the shores of Lough Leanne.
Oisín paused.
He looked around in dismay.
Where were the mighty woods he had once hunted in?
And the rippling river.
Where the stepping stones he and his men had placed to allow an easy crossing.
Now there was a bridge stretched over it,
And people were coming and going at a fast pace.
And how they stared at him.
It all felt so strange to our sheen.
He rode to the hill of Alen,
Where his father Fionn had his fort.
Surely he would find him in the Fianna there.
And when he breached the top of the hill,
Cloaked in the icy winter's fog that had not left his side,
All he could see.
Were the remains of the once great fort which was now in ruins and overgrown with weeds and nettles and moss growing over the limestone.
O'Sheen was heartbroken.
He could not believe that all this time had passed while he had been away in the land of Tír na nÓ.
Oisin travelled on through the land.
Which lay silent and still under the blanket of winter's breath.
He came upon a group of men.
Who were trying to lift a stone with great difficulty.
Oisín did not think twice and he leaned from the saddle and tossed the stone easily into the cart.
The men gasped in wonder.
At this strange man's strength.
But suddenly.
.
.
There was a snap.
The leather stirrup on the saddle broke.
And Oisin tumbled off the back of the horse.
As he hit the cold ground.
The springtime of his youth.
Disappeared.
And in an instant,
Oisin became a feeble old man.
Nieves' words of caution echoed in his thoughts.
May the wind be always at your back.
My true love Oisín was cared for by the people of Ireland.
Who relished in his tales of Fionn MacGhul,
The Fianna,
And the land of Tír na nÓg.
The cold,
Dark days of winter began to soften.
Frosts that had enveloped the land for what felt like an eternity.
Began now to thaw.
And the snowy peaked mountains began to slowly melt.
Icy threads of water began to trickle down the mountaintops into the streams and rivers.
And Azorsheen took his final breath.
The very first snowdrop of spring bloomed.
Now,
As I told you,
This story happened a long,
Long time ago.
But do you know?
That there never was such a great band of heroes and poets as the Fianna.
And through the long and frosty nights of many a winter.
Tales of their bravery.
Continue to bring warmth.
To the hearts of those that have the want to believe.
So goodnight to you,
My sleepy little listeners,
And sweetest dreams to you all.
May the wind be always at your back.
My true love And may your dreams be sweet and easy.
My true love And may you smile when the sun does rise.
And see with light in your eyes.
That we are blessed.
We are blessed.
