Upon the misted waters of Lough Derg, Where dawn’s first light strikes pale and dim, A lonely isle rises, shadowed, stark, Its stones worn smooth by centuries grim. Brrr-ah! Ha‑hey! The wind whispers through hawthorn and ash, The reeds bend low to hear the tale. Monks kneel in candle-lit cloisters, Chanting prayers as pilgrims set sail. Here Patrick walked, with heart devout, And visions came in fire and mist. A cave revealed by holy hand, The gates of purgatory to persist. Oi‑ya! Ay‑ya! No iron port or sealed fortress strong, But faith and courage guard the way. The clans of McGrath watch silently, To guide the pilgrim who kneels and prays. Owein came, a knight of blood and sin, With trembling limbs and heavy heart. He sought redemption, mercy’s balm, For acts that tore his soul apart. Brrr-ah! Ha‑hey! The cave yawned wide, a gaping maw, Darkness deeper than the midnight sea. The air grew thick, the shadows stirred, As unseen eyes bore down on thee. Oi‑ya! Ay‑ya! Demons leered, with claws and chains, And whispered lies to twist his mind. The walls themselves seemed to shift and groan, Yet steadfast faith would not unwind. He called the Name above all names, Through prayer, his courage found its flame. Each step, a torment to endure, Each breath, a cleansing, holy claim. O hear, O see, the torments call, Brrr-ah! Ha‑hey! Yet mercy reigns o’er sinner all. Fifty and three, the days may pass, But penitent soul finds grace at last. O hear, O see, the visions bright, Through shadowed caves and endless night. Oi‑ya! Ay‑ya! The isle awaits, the waters sing, Of Patrick’s purgatory, eternal spring. Monks chant in low and reverent tones, Their prayers a shield ‘gainst fear and dread. Stone walls rise, austere and cold, Yet warmth glows where candles are fed. Brrr-ah! Ha‑hey! The clans, steadfast, in duty bound, Keep watch on shores and sacred ground. No swords to fight the damned within, But guiding hands to souls’ new birth. Oi‑ya! Ay‑ya! They tell the tale in murmured lore, Of knights and pilgrims brave and pure. Of shadows, fire, and angelic light, Of trials endured in endless night. And all who come to seek the gate, Must shed their pride and enter straight. For Purgatory waits not in stone, But in the heart where sin is known. Brrr-ah! Ha‑hey! The cavern’s mouth a mouth of flame, The darkness stirs, no two steps same. The walls drip red with phantom cries, The air alive with spectral eyes. Oi‑ya! Ay‑ya! Brrr-ah! Souls wail in anguish, unseen chains, Yet hope survives in mortal veins. Owein trembles, his hands held high, He calls to Christ, the Sacred I. The demon forms, grotesque, contort, Yet cannot pierce his shield of faith. The shadows test, the spirits taunt, Yet courage lights the narrow path. Each vision burns a hidden sin, Each trial purges what lies within. From lowest pit to vaulted dome, The penitent walks to God’s own home. Ha‑hey! Brrr-ah! O hear, O see, the torments call, Brrr-ah! Ha‑hey! Yet mercy reigns o’er sinner all. Fifty and three, the days may pass, But penitent soul finds grace at last. O hear, O see, the visions bright, Through shadowed caves and endless night. Oi‑ya! Ay‑ya! The isle awaits, the waters sing, Of Patrick’s purgatory, eternal spring. Shamrock leaf and candle flame, Trinity’s light in mortal frame. Stone and water, wind and rain, All bear witness to souls’ refrain. Brrr-ah! Ha‑hey! Oi‑ya! Three days, three nights, three prayers long, To right the heart and still the wrong. Fifty and three, the numbers tell, Of mortal toil and purgatorial spell. At last the knight emerges pale, Yet in his eyes a steadfast glow. The torments fade, the demons wail, The soul reborn from depths below. Ha‑hey! Brrr-ah! Pilgrims bow, the monks rejoice, The lake reflects a sacred voice. The isle still waits for hearts contrite, To walk in shadow, emerge in light. The legend lives, in text and tale, In Latin scrolls and French verse pale. Though centuries pass and times may change, The portal of Patrick remains in range. Not of stone, nor iron bars, But of devotion, hope, and scars. Oi‑ya! Ay‑ya! Brrr-ah! O hear, O see, the torments call, Brrr-ah! Ha‑hey! Yet mercy reigns o’er sinner all. Fifty and three, the days may pass, But penitent soul finds grace at last. O hear, O see, the visions bright, Through shadowed caves and endless night. Oi‑ya! Ay‑ya! Brrr-ah! Ha‑hey! Lough Derg awaits, the isle stands still, For hearts that seek and bend to will.
