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  In Tir-na'n-Og,
  In Tir-na'n-Og,
The blackbird lilts, the robin chirps, the linnet wearies never,
They pipe to dancing feet of Sidhe and thus shall pipe forever.

  In Tir-na'n-Og,
  In Tir-na'n-Og,
All in a drift of apple blooms my true love there is roaming,
He will not come although I pray from dawning until gloaming.

  In Tir-na'n-Og,
  In Tir-na'n-Og,
The Sidhe desired my Heart's Delight, they lured him from my keeping,
He stepped within a fairy ring while all the world was sleeping.

  In Tir-na'n-Og,
  In Tir-na'n-Og,
He hath forgotten hill and glen where misty shadows gather,
The bleating of the mountain sheep, the cabin of his father.

  In Tir-na'n-Og,
  In Tir-na'n-Og,
He wanders in a happy dream thro' scented golden hours,
He flutes, to woo a fairy love, knee deep in fairy flowers.

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