Now all away to Tir na n'Og are many roads that run, 
But he has ta'en the longest lane, the King of Ireland's son. 

There's roads of hate, and roads of love, and many a middle way, 
And castles keep the valleys deep where happy lovers stray — 

Where Aongus goes there's many a rose burns red mid shadows dun, 
No rose there is will draw his kiss, the King of Ireland's son. 

And yonder where the sun is high Love laughs amid the hay, 
But smile and sigh have passed him by, and never make delay. 

And here (and O! the sun is low!) they're glad for harvest won, 
But naught he cares for wheat or tares, the King of Ireland's son! 

And you have flung love's apple by, and I'm to pluck it yet: 
But what are fruits of gramarye with druid dews beset? 

Oh, what are magic fruits to him who meets the Lianan sidhe? 
Or hears athwart the distance dim Fionn's horn blow drowsily? 

The star is yours to win or lose, and me the dusk has won, 
He follows after shadows, the King of Ireland's son. 

O saw ye not fair Ines? she's gone into the west,
To dazzle when the sun is down, and rob the world of rest;
She took our daylight with her, the smiles that we love best,
With morning blushes on her cheek, and pearls upon her breast.

O turn again, fair Ines, before the fall of night,
For fear the moon should shine alone, and stars unrivalled bright;
And blessèd will the lover be that walks beneath their light,
And breathes the love against thy cheek I dare not even write!

Would I had been, fair Ines, that gallant cavalier
Who rode so gayly by thy side and whispered thee so near!
Were there no bonny dames at home, or no true lovers here,
That he should cross the seas to win the dearest of the dear?

I saw thee, lovely Ines, descend along the shore,
With bands of noble gentlemen, and banners waved before;
And gentle youth and maidens gay, and snowy plumes they wore;—
It would have been a beauteous dream—if it had been no more!

Alas! alas! fair Ines! she went away with song,
With music waiting on her steps, and shoutings of the throng;
But some were sad, and felt no mirth, but only Music's wrong,
In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell to her you've loved so long.

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines! that vessel never bore
So fair a lady on its deck, nor danced so light before—
Alas for pleasure on the sea, and sorrow on the shore!
The smile that blest one lover's heart has broken many more!