Long ago, in the ancient kingdoms of Erin and Alba, the old names for Ireland and Scotland, there lived a great hero called Finn mac Cumhaill. He led a band of warrior-hunters called the Fianna who were said to be giants in body, mind, and strength, fearless in battle and skilled in the arts of peace.
There was Cailte, the swiftest of runners.
There was Oscar, skillful with his spear and sword.
There was Gol MacMorna, the old warrior with the one eye.
And there was Oisin, son of Finn mac Cumhaill, a poet, singer, and lover of words, and keeper of the old stories.
One day, the Fianna had been hunting in the woods, and they came to rest at last down by the western shore, looking out over the blue Atlantic Ocean, when they saw, coming towards them across the waves, a little white speck in the far distance. As it got closer, they saw it was a white horse, a mighty stallion, galloping over the sea. It was a wondrous sight. They could hardly believe their eyes. And on the horse sat a young woman with golden hair.
The horse galloped across the sea, up on to the beach, and rode right up to where Finn and his men were resting. The young woman spoke directly to Finn, seeming to know that he was the leader.
'I have come to ask one thing,' she said.
'But who are you?' asked Finn. 'Where have you come from?'
'My name is Niam, and I come from Tir Na Nog, the beautiful Island of the Ever Young, that lies west of the setting sun. I am the daughter of the king of that place.'
'And what is it that you seek with us here?' asked Finn.
'I have come to ask if I might marry your son, Oisin,' she replied, 'For even on the far island of Tir Na Nog, we have heard much of the beauty of his words and poetry, the sweetness of his voice, and his singing with the harp.'
Oisin, sitting there with his friends, looked upon this woman, and he at once fell under her spell, and was taken with a great love for her. He looked at Finn.
'Father,' he said, 'I must go with her to Tir Na Nog.'
'No', said Finn, 'You belong here with the Fianna.'
But then Finn looked at his son's eyes, and knew it was already too late: Oisin was under an enchantment, and there was nothing Finn could do to stop him from following Niam back to her island far to the west.
Oisin said farewell to his father and to his friends: to Cailte, to Oscar, to Gol MacMorna of the one eye. He turned to Niam. She stretched out her hand, and drew him up on to the back of the white stallion, and together they rode away back across the waves. The hunters of the Fianna gazed in wonder and amazement as the horse and its two riders became a tiny speck in the distance, and then were gone.
And so it was that Oisin the poet came to live on Tir Na Nog, the island of the Ever Young. There he was welcomed by the king, and was invited to a great feast in the royal palace.
Every day the air was filled with sweet birdsong. All year round there were blossoms on the trees and flowers of every kind and every colour. The young men and women on the island played music, and sang and danced, and laughed. It was a land where no one ever grew old.
There, in great contentment, Oisin stayed for many years, always staying the same age as when he had first arrived there. And with his wife, Niam, he had two children - a boy and a girl.
But there came a time, when he longed to see his friends, his companions of the hunt: Cailte the swiftest runner, Oscar the great warrior, Gol MacMorna of the one eye, and his father, Finn mac Cumhail.
Niam saw that something had changed.
'What is it?' she asked Oisin. 'Are you not happy here on Tir Na Nog?'
'It's only that I long to see my family and friends,' he answered.
'Do not leave here,' said Niam, 'For if you go, you never can return.'
'But my heart is with you,' said Oisin, 'Of course, I will return. But for now, I must go.'
So, the beautiful white stallion was got ready, and Oisin got up on to its back, ready to gallop away across the sea.
'Wait!' said Niam. 'There’s one thing you must know. When you reach the land of your people, much will have changed. You will not recognise it, and I think you will not find your friends. But, whatever you do, do not put foot on that land. If you do, there is no hope of you ever returning here to Tir Na Nog. You must stay on this beautiful horse, and then you can ride back again.'
Oisin kissed Niam farewell and rode from Tir Na Nog across the glistening blue sea, back to the land of his birth. In no time at all, he seemed to be back on the shore of the land that he loved, the place where he had first seen Niam. And yet, everything seemed changed.
When he rode to the places that he knew, where he had spent many happy days with the Fianna, they were overgrown with weeds, and grass, and moss. He could not understand it. And as he looked upon the people, they all seemed tiny, little people, not at all like the great hunters and warriors that he knew.
He rode on until he came to the great fortress of Finn mac Cumhail himself. And nothing was there. It was overgrown with nettles and thistles. He stopped and asked some of these little men:
'Do you know of Finn mac Cumhail, and of Cailte the swift? Of Oscar the warrior, and Gol MacMorna of the one eye?'
They looked at him blankly. Then an old, old man stepped forward and said:
'When I was a boy, I heard tell of such names, names from the old legends. From 300 years ago, people say.'
Three hundred years! The old man must be mistaken. Oisin rode on, but then he saw some of these little people struggling to move a rock from the field they were ploughing. Oisin knew that he had the strength to move the rock easily, so he leaned down from his horse to help them, but as he did so, the leather strap on his saddle snapped in two, and he fell to the ground, his feet touching the earth, and at once, the white horse fled towards the sea. Oisin felt himself changing, getting older in an instant, until he was a frail, old man, sitting on the ground.
He was found there by some monks, some holy men. They helped him to his feet, and took him to their monastery and to their leader St Patrick, and there they took care of him for the rest of his days.
As for Cailte, and Oscar, Gol Mac Morna, and the great hero Finn mac Cumhaill, Oisin never could find them again, but he told stories of their adventures together, and today you can read and enjoy many more tales of the Fianna.
© Beverley Casebow / David Campbell 2020