Brightest of Brightness — From Gile na Gile by Aodhagán Ó Rathaille

Brightest of Brightness is a haunting new English song adaptation inspired by the public-domain Irish poem “Gile na Gile” by Aodhagán Ó Rathaille, also known as Egan O’Rahilly. Ó Rathaille was one of the great Irish-language poets of the late Gaelic world. The Dictionary of Irish Biography gives his dates as approximately 1670–1728/9 and places him in County Kerry, a landscape that still echoes through the sorrow, grandeur and dreamlike beauty of his poetry. “Gile na Gile” belongs to the Irish aisling tradition — a dream-vision form in which the poet meets a mysterious, radiant woman. She is often more than a woman: she may represent Ireland herself, wounded by exile, loss and political ruin, yet still carrying hope, nobility and prophecy. Ó Rathaille is widely associated with shaping the fully developed aisling into one of the most powerful forms of Irish poetic longing. This version is not Frank O’Connor’s translation. It is a fresh English lyric adaptation created for song from the original Irish text and imagery — keeping the emotional world of the poem: the lonely road, the radiant woman, the ancient court, the false binding, the tears of pride, and the longing for return. A song of beauty, grief, exile and old Ireland’s dream. Credits Inspired by: “Gile na Gile” Original poet: Aodhagán Ó Rathaille / Egan O’Rahilly Original Irish poem: public domain English song adaptation: Viola Dono / Irish Longing Music, arrangement, production and video: © 2026 Viola Dono / Irish Longing Vocals: Callum Boucicault — digital voice Visuals created with AI-assisted creative tools Copyright & licensing notice Original Irish poem: public domain. English song adaptation, musical arrangement, performance, recording and film: © 2026 Viola Dono / Irish Longing. All rights reserved. Lyrics Brightest of Brightness Brightest of brightness, I saw her On a lonely road at dawn, Sweetest of sweetness, her speaking Like a harp-note softly drawn. Crystal of crystal, her blue-green eyes Held the morning’s hidden flame, Rose and lily crossed her cheeks And neither could win its claim. Curl upon curl fell golden, Heavy with the dew of May, Each shining lock swept silver drops From the grass along her way. On her breast a gleaming garment Shone too bright for mirrors’ pride, Born, it seemed, in the upper country For that queenly heart to bind. Secret on secret she told me, Lonely as a heart in pain, News of the one who should be returning, Born to wear the crown again. News of those who broke and scattered him, Hunted him from hall and throne, And more she told in trembling sorrow Than my song may ever own. Madness of madness came upon me, That I dared draw near her light, Captive held by the captive lady, Slave to beauty, grief and right. Then I cried to Mary’s Son To guard my soul from spell and flame; She started back like sudden lightning And fled where Luachra’s shadows came. Wildly, wildly then I followed, Heart in storm and breath in fear, Over marsh and shining meadow, Over stone and heather drear. How I found the ancient dwelling I could never truly say, House of houses, darkly fashioned By old powers far away. There the curled-haired host was laughing, Sharp as wind through winter thorn, There were maidens, pale and graceful, Silken-braided, sad, forlorn. In hard bonds they held me captive, Gave my soul no rest nor ease, While my bright one smiled beside another, Lost to shameful vanities. Then I spoke the truth before her, Grief had made my courage plain: “Lady, this unworthy binding Does not suit your noble name. How can you lean toward a hireling, Smooth of tongue and false of heart, While the fairest of the Gaelic bloodline Waits for you, though kept apart?” When she heard my voice, she wept then, Proudly wept and would not kneel; Down her cheeks the bright tears travelled, Warm as sorrow, clear as steel. Then she sent a young guard with me From that haunted court of pain, And still I see her on the lonely road — Brightest brightness, once again. My loss, my wound, my breaking sorrow, My ruin deeper than the sea: That gentle light, that tender brightness, Soft-mouthed grace, is lost to me. Bound beside a dark-horned stranger, Cruel-faced and meanly crowned; No healing now until the lions Come roaring home across the sound.