paperclip
04-22-2005, 06:32 PM
Hi there,
I thought it'd be interesting if we all posted our favorite legends, stories, etc from our own countries. Try and keep them short though-- they are more fun to read if they're not too long.
Here's one from Ireland and one all irish people learn as little cailin agus buachailli...(girls and boys)..
Tir Nan Og is the land to which the Irish faeries know as Tuatha de Danann fled when their lands were taken by the Milesians. In Tir Nan Og they spend their days feasting, gaming, love-making and partaking of beautiful music. The faeries can even enjoy the thril of battle, for anyone slain is resurected the following day. It is the paradise that mortals can only dream of. {'Fairies' in ireland are more like 'gifted people', rather than actual fairy type creatures.)
Anyway, the story goes that one of the women from Tir na nOg (lit. land of the young) travelled to Ireland and while there saw Oisin, a young man fishing along the coast. Niamh (whose name means brightness) beguiled Oisin into coming with her to Tir na nOg. When they reached its golden shores, Niamh gave Oisin a white horse and they rode around the land, with Niamh showing Oisin the wonders of the fair land. She introduced him to her people and he was at home with them before long.
Years passed and eventually, as much as he loved Tir na nOg, Oisin began to pine after Ireland.
'Niamh', said Oisin, 'I wish to return to the land of my birth.'
Niamh wept. Oisin comforted her and asked why she wept. 'Don't leave Tir na nOg', says she. 'If you do, you will never return.'
Oisin pleaded and Niamh finally relented, on one condition: that he stays on the horse she gave him and does not touch the ground of Ireland. Oisin gladly accepts this condition.
Packed with provisions and bearing a glad heart, Oisin rode over the waves towards Ireland.
He headed for the fortress of Nuada of the Silver Arm, where all his friends were. As he galloped up the hill towards the castle, he was stunned to see it as an overgrown ruin. Weeds and moss grew rampant over the once glorious fortress. Then it hit him. He had been gone for much longer than he had thought.
He rode towards a group of young men in a neighbouring field trying to shift a large rock in order to build a wall.
'Good day', says he, 'Have you heard of Oisin, a warrior from around here?'. The young men replied enthusiastically:
'Of course', they cried, 'That famous warrior from times past. He fought with that mighty army, the Fianna. He had mighty powers of strength didn't he? That must have been at least three or four hundred years ago now.'
Oisin noticed that some of the men were blowing on blisters on their hands from the labour. 'Allow me to help you move that enormous stone you have there.' He leapt from the horse and as soon as his foot touched the ground, his body started to shrivel up and age rapidly. He died at the foot of the horse within a few seconds. The horse started to gallop away back to Niamh and Tir na nOg.
Hope you liked it. It may not be completely correct, I wrote it as I could remember it, with a few references from the internet, but that's one of the characteristics of irish stories, that you are meant to tell it yourself and change it as you see fit, it a constantly evolving thing.
Now for the rest of you.......
I thought it'd be interesting if we all posted our favorite legends, stories, etc from our own countries. Try and keep them short though-- they are more fun to read if they're not too long.
Here's one from Ireland and one all irish people learn as little cailin agus buachailli...(girls and boys)..
Tir Nan Og is the land to which the Irish faeries know as Tuatha de Danann fled when their lands were taken by the Milesians. In Tir Nan Og they spend their days feasting, gaming, love-making and partaking of beautiful music. The faeries can even enjoy the thril of battle, for anyone slain is resurected the following day. It is the paradise that mortals can only dream of. {'Fairies' in ireland are more like 'gifted people', rather than actual fairy type creatures.)
Anyway, the story goes that one of the women from Tir na nOg (lit. land of the young) travelled to Ireland and while there saw Oisin, a young man fishing along the coast. Niamh (whose name means brightness) beguiled Oisin into coming with her to Tir na nOg. When they reached its golden shores, Niamh gave Oisin a white horse and they rode around the land, with Niamh showing Oisin the wonders of the fair land. She introduced him to her people and he was at home with them before long.
Years passed and eventually, as much as he loved Tir na nOg, Oisin began to pine after Ireland.
'Niamh', said Oisin, 'I wish to return to the land of my birth.'
Niamh wept. Oisin comforted her and asked why she wept. 'Don't leave Tir na nOg', says she. 'If you do, you will never return.'
Oisin pleaded and Niamh finally relented, on one condition: that he stays on the horse she gave him and does not touch the ground of Ireland. Oisin gladly accepts this condition.
Packed with provisions and bearing a glad heart, Oisin rode over the waves towards Ireland.
He headed for the fortress of Nuada of the Silver Arm, where all his friends were. As he galloped up the hill towards the castle, he was stunned to see it as an overgrown ruin. Weeds and moss grew rampant over the once glorious fortress. Then it hit him. He had been gone for much longer than he had thought.
He rode towards a group of young men in a neighbouring field trying to shift a large rock in order to build a wall.
'Good day', says he, 'Have you heard of Oisin, a warrior from around here?'. The young men replied enthusiastically:
'Of course', they cried, 'That famous warrior from times past. He fought with that mighty army, the Fianna. He had mighty powers of strength didn't he? That must have been at least three or four hundred years ago now.'
Oisin noticed that some of the men were blowing on blisters on their hands from the labour. 'Allow me to help you move that enormous stone you have there.' He leapt from the horse and as soon as his foot touched the ground, his body started to shrivel up and age rapidly. He died at the foot of the horse within a few seconds. The horse started to gallop away back to Niamh and Tir na nOg.
Hope you liked it. It may not be completely correct, I wrote it as I could remember it, with a few references from the internet, but that's one of the characteristics of irish stories, that you are meant to tell it yourself and change it as you see fit, it a constantly evolving thing.
Now for the rest of you.......
