The Silver Branch (The Tuatha Dé Danann)
The mists of Erin part for shining blades,
As Nuada raises high the sword of light;
Against the dark of deep and salty shades,
The Fomorians rise to claim the night.
The earth is torn by spells of druid fire,
And spears that never miss their bloody mark;
A song of war upon a golden lyre,
To drive the shadows back into the dark.
Four treasures clash against the giant’s shield,
While goddesses of war in crow-shape fly;
The soil of Mag Tuired shall never yield,
Until the sun is master of the sky.
The ancient kings return to hills of green,
Where only ghosts of battles now are seen.
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