The Wanderings of Oisin (Book 3) - W.B. Yeats
A Concluding Vision of Mortal Heritage and Faery Longing
Oisin
“Three times, O holy man, have I told
My comings and goings across the sea,
But never yet did I count the gold
Of thoughts that welled in the heart of me.
Now in this final telling you shall know
How once more I dared to Ireland go,
Compelled by dreams I could not tame,
Haunted by Fenian feasts and fame.
These eyes grew heavy with the glow
Of Faery wonders—yet did I yearn
For mortal fields and men I’d known
In battles fierce where clarions burn.
In these last wanderings, night and noon,
I found at length a fated boon.”
S. Patrick
“Speak on, if speak you must, though sorrow drives
Your tale; this tangled lore of Faery might
Yet snare men’s souls who lead lowly lives
Unknowing of your gleaming night.
Oisin, if all your roving ways
Have left you penitent, let us praise
The Cross that lights the darkest wave.
In kneeling, mortal men are brave.”
Oisin
“When last we soared from Faery’s shore,
The steed with hooves of foam and wind,
Niamh clasped me closer than before,
As if she read my restless mind.
‘Once more you go?’ she asked in tears,
‘To a land long lost in mortal years,
From which no voice or sign did come
While you roamed midst love and timeless bloom?’
Her sorrow weighed upon my breast,
Yet all my soul cried out to stand
On Ireland’s soil, if but in quest
Of memory’s footprints on the sand.
So forth we flew, in gloom or sun,
Bound for that place where life is spun.”
S. Patrick
“’Tis madness, or so it seems to me,
To quit an Eden free from strife,
Only to brave mortality,
Where storms of grief beset our life.
Yet mortal ties can bind with might—
The bosom’s vow or soldier’s rite
May wield a pull none can restrain.
Continue, though I sense your pain.”
Oisin
“We crossed the seas, and soon the shape
Of green-clad Ireland rose to view.
Cloud-shadows raced o’er every cape;
The mountains shone in shifting hue.
But when we neared the battered coast,
No banner waved, no Fenian host
Sang out its welcome on the plains.
Silence reigned where once were strains
Of harpers, feasts, and warrior calls.
Beneath the sky, grey villages
Stood wreathed in lonely intervals,
Unknowing of old victories.
I felt a pang to see them stand
Where once a hero’s camp was grand.”
Niamh
“‘Look not with sorrow on this shore,
Brave Oisin. What was, is gone,
But new things rise forevermore.
The seed of old glories lingers on.
Yet if your heart must roam this land
To seek that echo of your band,
I shall not bar you—go, but heed
The warning of our Faery steed:
Set not your foot upon the ground,
Nor tarry long where time’s a snare,
Lest all our flights be sealed and bound,
And mortal age o’ertake you there.’
Her voice grew sad, yet resolute—
She feared the fate I might not refute.”
Oisin
“I saw the fields, in autumn’s glow,
Call out to me in silent grace.
I heard a whisper, faint and low,
Like old companions’ laughter trace
A memory of hunts and warlike pride.
Against Niamh’s counsel did I ride
Too near a meager group of men
Who strove to lift a slab, and then
Their cries besought my giant power.
I stooped to help—alas, my foot
Touched earth, in that unguarded hour,
And all was changed beyond refute.
The strength fled from my limbs, so fast—
An old man on the ground at last.”
S. Patrick
“So we have heard how age befell,
When once your mortal link returned.
Alas, no Faery charm can quell
The truth of years so quickly earned.
Yet does your story finish here—
A withered soul in cold and fear,
Or is there more your voice must say,
Ere I commend you to God this day?”
Oisin
“She who had followed me so far,
Niamh of the shining hair,
Vanished like some distant star
Beyond the clouds of my despair.
With pitying glance she soared away,
The magic steed in bright dismay—
I glimpsed them but a moment’s space,
Their tears lost in that leaving place.
Then mortals gathered round my shape,
And thought me mad with dreams untrue;
Yet all my visions could not escape,
For memory burned as embers do.
I roamed these coasts with staff in hand,
A stranger in my native land.”
S. Patrick
“Accept the sorrow you have wrought,
And turn your heart to holy deed.
For mortal roads are ever fraught
With loss, though from that loss we bleed.
No faery realm can last for aye—
While God’s high truth shall never stray.
Yield to the cross, O aged chief,
And find in prayer a sure relief.”
Oisin
“I cannot spurn the splendors known,
Though I be bent and mortal now.
My soul in those bright fields has flown,
Where Niamh’s voice I still avow.
No prayers of men or saintly vow
Can blot that land from memory’s brow.
Though time has robbed me of my youth,
My heart still dwells in Faery truth.
If your mercy can heal this woe,
Then pray indeed—but not to sever
My bond with all I loved below.
I yield my flesh to storms that sever,
But keep my spirit bright and strong,
For I have soared where I belong.”
S. Patrick
“Alas that I have failed to show
The greater promise of the Lord,
When even storms of age and woe
Draw you to that remembered chord.
Yet I shall pray you find some peace—
And if your longing does not cease,
So be it—God alone can say
If grace shall touch you on your way.”
Oisin
“Farewell, then, holy man; my breath
Already shortens in my chest.
I see the shape of coming death,
But fear no gloom if, in my rest,
A whisper from the western main
Brings Niamh’s songs to me again.
The Fenian fires have all gone cold,
The harps of Erin lost and sold,
Yet in the surge of dream, I stand,
With spear in hand and hounds at heel.
Whether in heaven or Faery’s land,
I hold what mortal hearts can feel—
A fleeting, golden ecstasy,
The fruit of all my years at sea.”
(Here Oisin’s voice grows faint, and St. Patrick prays at his side. The text concludes Book III of “The Wanderings of Oisin.”)
In Book III of “The Wanderings of Oisin,” W.B. Yeats completes the arc of Oisin’s story. Having traveled countless Faery realms, Oisin once again attempts to return to Ireland, unable to quell his longing for the land of his youth. Despite Niamh’s warnings, he dismounts to aid a small band of mortals—a compassionate impulse that proves fateful: the instant Oisin’s foot touches the ground, he is overwhelmed by centuries of aging.
Throughout the final section, Oisin’s dialogue with St. Patrick intensifies. The saint pleads for Oisin to repent and embrace the Christian faith, yet Oisin’s memories of Faery splendor hold a power far surpassing fear of mortal frailty. This tension dramatizes Yeats’s fascination with how Ireland’s mythic and imaginative heritage can clash with a more doctrinal, ascetic worldview. The poem closes with Oisin resolute in his devotion to the visions and freedom he found beyond the mortal plane.
Consequently, Book III crystallizes the poem’s central themes: the bittersweet cost of choosing between temporal attachments and the desire for a higher, often otherworldly, fulfillment. While Oisin accepts the bodily decline that separates him from Niamh, his spirit remains anchored in Faery’s radiance. In this way, Yeats presents a hero caught between two worlds, suggesting that the allure of myth can illuminate mortal life even as it alienates the dreamer from mundane realities. The poem, in its final moments, leaves readers with a profound sense of both loss and transcendence, emblematic of Yeats’s own ambivalence about Ireland’s folklore and its place within a changing spiritual landscape.
Key points
1. Oisin’s final return to Ireland cements his transition from Faery timelessness to mortal frailty.
2. Yeats contrasts mythical devotion with religious orthodoxy, heightening the poem’s cultural tension.
3. The interplay between longing and reality underscores how some visions cannot be relinquished.
4. Book III resolves Oisin’s wanderings with a poignant blend of regret, acceptance, and mythic nostalgia.
