Cry for the wandering singer,And for his magic tune,And dances that weave and lingerUnder a summer moon.Cry for the fight and tourney,The harp the mother of tears,And the world that with backward journeyMoves down the older years.
1st Man. We had our fill of slaying and wild joyWhen Balor gave us victory in Appin.
2nd Man. Uisdean was fighting like a great heroOf those that were the guard of Fionnagal.
3rd Man. Uisdean is lying cold upon the hillsAnd in the houses they are wailing him,And the wife dumb with sorrow.
1st Man. It was fineTo hear the way the Appin men were crying,And though Bean-Uisdean will be sorrowing,The gods love slaying and the clash of swords.
Alastair comes in.Alastair. Oh praise the gods that have renewed the world,Until our old desires are young again.
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