In the lands of Ireland rich and old,
Where tales of valor and beauty unfold,
Stands the Dagda, his form great and grand,
A god of many trades, renowned in this land.
Hair like wildfire on battle’s fierce day,
A beacon of strength, driving dark foes away,
Eochaid Olathair: Horse Lord, Father most kind,
I sing now your praises, for all to bear in mind.
Aedh Alainn: Fiery Lustrous One,
Whose passion outshines the very sun,
A father with wisdom, love, and might,
Guiding your children through day and night.
In your arms, dear Ruadh Rofhessa,
Red man of knowledge, your wisdom’s vast caress
You sought the secrets of earth and stone,
Master of arts both known and unknown.
In war, you charged like a mighty steed,
For honor and kin, you did bleed,
When trees needed felling, your axe struck true,
Clearing forests before morning’s dew.
Your harp, uaithne, weaved melodies so fair,
Spun the seasons, laughter and tears,
In the hearts of men, your music did stir,
Echoes of your timeless power in us, confer.
Great Dagda, a king of honor and grace,
Ruled o’er Ireland, held peace in its place,
A poet with words that painted vivid skies,
Eyes of all gazed upon your lore, timeless as the horizon lies.
When famine arose, coire ansic summoned full feast,
Your cauldron divine, our hunger was ceased,
In your hands the lorg mór, both life and death,
Swung to protect, till your final breath.
Mighty Dagda, I sing to thee,
May mortals and gods, in harmony be,
Through your wisdom, your strength, and goodwill,
Eternal devotion to you, our hearts fill.
In the realm where ancient spirits reside,
In the mounds of Brú na Bóinne, wisdom did hide,
Your story resounds, in the hallowed earth,
A tale of a deity, a king, and a father of worth.
