Ciaran, the Master of Horses and Lands

Ciaran, the master of horses and lands, Once had no more than the horn on his hands.

But Ciaran is rich now, and Ciaran is great, And rides with the air of a squire of estate.

O Christ! and to see the man up on the back Of a thoroughbred stallion, a bay or a black!

There's not a horsebreeder from Banna to Laoi Can handle the snaffle so pretty as he!

And Ciaran, for all, has the wit of a child, A heart just as soft, and an eye just as mild.

No maker of ballads puts curse at his door: He handsels the singer, and harbours the poor.

For Ciaran, the master of horses and lands, Once had no more than the horn on his hands.