The sun has set, the stars are still,

The red moon hides behind the hill;

The tide has left the brown beach bare,

The birds have fled the upper air;

Upon her branch the lone cuckoo

Is chanting still her sad adieu;

And you, my fair hair'd girl, must go

Across the salt sea under woe.

I through love have learned three things,

Sorrow, sin, and death it brings,

Yet day by day my heart within

Dares shame and sorrow, death and sin;

Maiden, you have aim'd the dart

Rankling in my ruin'd heart;

Maiden, may the God above

Grant you grace to grant me love.

Sweeter than the viol's string,

And the notes that blackbirds sing;

Brighter than the dewdrops rare

Is the maiden, wondrous fair;

Like the silver swans at play

Is her neck, as bright as day;

Woe is me, that e'er my sight

Dwelt on charms so deadly bright.

Among the sweetest and most famous of the old Irish airs is that entitled The Coolun or Head of Clustering Tresses, one of the charming personifications of female beauty of which Irish poetry is full. Several sets of words remain to this air of which Ferguson has translated the following:—