The Legend of Tír na nÓg
Long ago, on an isle of emerald green, surrounded by a sea of azure blue, there lived a young man named Oisín.
Oisín liked to explore the moors with the Fianna the name of a band of ancient warrior-hunters and defenders of Ireland.
One day, when Oisín and the Fianna were out hunting, they saw an extraordinary sight. It was a beautiful young woman with long red hair, riding on a spirited white mare. The sun glistened off the maiden's hair, casting a magical golden light.
The mare's movements were so fluid that she appeared to float across the ground. As her rider brought her to a stop before the group, the horse's hooves struck at the field stones impatiently, sending small sparks into the air.
"My name is Niamh," the woman said, in a voice that sounded like the music of a harp. "My father is the king of Tír na nÓg."
Oisín stepped forward from the group of hunters to welcome the rider. As his eyes met Niamh's, they fell in love.
"Come with me to Tír na nÓg," Niamh pleaded to her new found love. After only a moment's hesitation, Oisín swung up behind Niamh onto the white horse.
Together, they crossed the sea to Tír na nÓg.
Having grown up on the Emerald Isle, Oisín would never have believed that a more beautiful land existed. But, as he gazed upon Tír na nÓg, he was stunned by the beauty around him.
In this magical land, Niamh and Oisín built a life together. They spent each day exploring Tír na nÓg with the white mare. Niamh and Oisín's love grew deeper as Niamh shared the beauty of her enchanted homeland.
300 years passed as though it were but a single day. No one in Tír na nÓg ever grew old or fell sick. They lived in endless, youthful moments filled with happiness.
In spite of the beauty of the land and the deep love that Niamh and Oisín shared for each other, a small part of Oisín's soul knew loneliness.
Such feelings were unheard of in Tír na nÓg but in spite of her efforts, Niamh was unable to ease Oisín's loneliness.
So, when Oisín came to Niamh and told her of his desire to return to Ireland to see his family and the Fianna again, she could not hold him back.
"All right," said Niamh. "Return to Ireland on the back of the white mare. But my dear, your foot must not touch the soil of Ireland!"
Immediately Oisín rode the white horse back across the sea to the land of his birth.
As soon as the mare's hooves touched Ireland's soil, Oisín realized how much the land had changed. Oisín's family and friends had long passed away. Their grand castle was over grown with ivy.
Oisín was so caught up in his quest to find his family and his grief at their loss, that he forgot to care for the beautiful white horse. In spite of her hunger and fatigue she continued to respond to her rider.
Finally, with a sad heart, Oisín turned the mare back toward the sea to return to Tír na nÓg.
Approaching the sea, he came upon a group of men working in a field. As the mare reached the group, her fatigue caused her to stumble. Her hoof hit a stone. Oisín bent down to pick up the rock, planning to take it to Tír na nÓg. He was sure that it would ease his sadness to carry a piece of Ireland back with him.
But as his hand grasped the stone, Oisín lost his balance and fell to the ground.
Within moments, Oisín aged 300 years.
Without her rider, the mare reared up and rushed into the ocean, returning to Tír na nÓg and her beloved Niamh.
When the men in the field witnessed this, they were amazed. Not only had they seen a young man age before their eyes, they had also seen a tired old plow horse transformed into a beautiful silver-white mare, who raced into the sea.
The men went to Oisín's aid and carried him to St. Patrick.
When Oisín met St. Patrick, he told Patrick of the his family and the Fianna, who had disappeared from Ireland almost 300 years before. Then he told St. Patrick of Niamh and the magical land of Tír na nÓg.
As Oisín ended his story, a great weariness swept over him and he closed his eyes in eternal slumber.
Even to this day, the fishermen and lighthouse keepers still tell of foggy nights when the moon is full, and they see a shimmering white horse dancing in the waves along the shores of Ireland. Some say that the red-haired maiden who rides the horse still searches for Oisín.
Approximate pronunciation guide
Fionn – Fyonn
Oisín – Ush-een
Eachtra – Acht-tra
Niamh Chinn Óir – Nee-ve keen ore
Fianna- fee-anna
Gleann na Smól - Glan nah Smole (valley of the thrushes)
