He Mourns For The Change That Has Come Upon Him And His Beloved, And Wishes For The End Of The WorldDo you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns
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He Mourns For The Change That Has Come Upon Him And His Beloved, And Wishes For The End Of The WorldO you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns
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The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare; Caolte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling Away, come away
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