O the Water-Horse will come over the heath,
With the foaming mouth and the flashing eyes,
He's black above and he's white beneath—
The hills are hearing the awesome cries;
The sand lies thick in his dripping hair,
And his hoofs are twined with weeds and ware.

Alas! for the man who would clutch the mane—
There's no spell to help and no charm to save!
Who rides him will never return again,
Were he as strong, O were he as brave
As Fin-mac-Coul, of whom they'll tell—
He thrashed the devil and made him yell.

He'll gallop so fierce, he'll gallop so fast,
So high he'll rear, and so swift he'll bound—
Like the lightning flash he'll go prancing past,
Like the thunder-roll will his hoofs resound—
And the man perchance who sees and hears,
He would blind his eyes, he would close his ears.

The horse will bellow, the horse will snort,
And the gasping rider will pant for breath—
Let the way be long, or the way be short,
It will have one end, and the end is death;
In yon black loch, from off the shore,
The horse will splash, and be seen no more.