This could be a tragic Celtic legend...
They lived in a castle high on a hill,
Far above the thundering sea.
One brother dark and one brother fair,
Diarmuid Dubh and Fionan Leigh.
And no one could ride like Fionan could ride
And no one could hunt with the falcon and bow
And they valued him highly in dancing and fighting
And Diarmuid low.
And when the moon shone high above the hill
And the tide rushed in with might,
In the castle Fionan was dancing and laughing
Diarmuid stared into the night.
And no one gave thought what he felt, what he sought,
What shame and what pain he endured constantly,
And they danced and they played and a judgement was laid
On Fionan Leigh.
Once more the brothers rode out to hunt
On a glorious morning in clouds of foam,
But there was no glory when at night they came
Carrying the fair prince home.
How still did he lie: would he live? would he die?
In a silence unlike him ever before,
And Diarmuid looked on, and he knew he had won
What he longed for.
Time in the castle high above the sea
Was measured as waves rolled in.
In the hall was crowned a new ruler to be,
While a candle flickered unseen.
No one spoke again of the wreck of a man
That lived and that stared and that no one would ken,
They accepted the new and they paid what was due
To Diarmuid Dubh.
Once in the castle high above the sea
He stood on the wall when tide was low.
There was no sound of dancing and revelry.
The sea sang rue and woe.
And no one was near when he fought down his fear
And the thundering and foaming was all he could hear.
And he stepped in the air. In his arms he did carry