In darkness they wait, a fresh wind blows The people pray, the restless cattle low The ashes are cold in house and byre Waiting the torch from the sacred fire Up on Tara the First Fire flames To the next hill races, to be lit from the same Throughout the land the First Fire goes From hill to hill the watchfires glow From cottage to croft the torch is passed The new fire flares, the old one is past Then the crofters move on silent feet The drums start up their throbbing beat With a shout and a HOO! the drive begins The cattle move, summer comes in.
