In the rugged hills of County Clare, far from the bustling towns and villages, stands the ancient ruin of Dún Mór, an old castle that time has forgotten. The walls have crumbled, the once-great towers now broken stumps, and the ivy has claimed every stone. Yet, the people of the nearby village speak in hushed tones of a presence that lingers within the ruins—an eerie melody that drifts through the air on nights when the moon is full and bright.
The story of Dún Mór begins with Lord Aidan O’Riordan, the last lord to rule over the castle many centuries ago. Lord Aidan was a harsh man, feared by his tenants and loathed by those who served him. He was cold and distant, except for his love of music. Aidan’s prized possession was a golden harp, said to be enchanted by the faeries of the west. Its strings shimmered like sunlight on water, and its music could make even the hardest heart weep with joy or sorrow.
The harp was played by Oisín, a young bard who had been taken into the lord’s service when he was but a boy. Oisín was known throughout the land for his talent, and his music had enchanted many who passed through the gates of Dún Mór. Despite his talent, Oisín was bound to the castle, for Lord Aidan refused to let him leave, obsessed with keeping the music of the faerie harp for himself.
But Oisín’s heart belonged to Siobhán, a village girl with fiery red hair and eyes the color of the sea. They had fallen in love, meeting in secret beneath the moonlit sky near the cliffs, where Oisín would play his harp just for her. They dreamed of escaping Dún Mór together, far from the lord’s oppressive grasp.
One bitter winter’s night, their plan was set in motion. Oisín and Siobhán were to meet at the cliffs and flee across the sea to a new life. But fate, as it often does in tales of old Ireland, had other plans. Lord Aidan, suspicious of Oisín’s frequent absences, followed him that night and discovered their secret.
In a blind rage, Aidan confronted the lovers at the cliffs. A terrible struggle ensued, and in the chaos, Siobhán slipped, tumbling into the icy waters below, lost to the sea. Oisín cried out in agony, reaching for her, but it was too late. Despair and fury filled his heart, and he turned to Aidan, swearing revenge.
The lord, cold as ever, ordered Oisín back to Dún Mór, but the bard refused. His grief was too great. Enraged by his defiance, Aidan had Oisín bound and dragged back to the castle, where he was imprisoned in the highest tower, his only companion the faerie harp that once brought him joy.
That night, Oisín played his final song. It was a mournful melody, filled with sorrow and love lost, a tune that swept through the halls of Dún Mór and out across the hills. The villagers below heard the haunting strains, a music so beautiful and sad it seemed the very stars wept. When dawn came, Oisín was gone—his body cold, his heart broken, and his soul vanished into the wind.
From that day onward, Lord Aidan was never seen again. Some say he went mad with guilt, wandering the hills until he disappeared. Others claim the faeries came for him, angry at the death of their favored bard. The golden harp, too, was lost, its location known only to the spirits that roam the ruins of Dún Mór.
Yet the story doesn’t end there. On clear, moonlit nights, travelers who pass by the ruins of Dún Mór speak of hearing a soft, ethereal melody drifting from the castle, as if the wind itself carries the notes of the faerie harp. The music is said to be both beautiful and sorrowful, a song of love and loss that tugs at the hearts of all who hear it.
Those brave enough to venture close to the castle ruins have reported seeing the faint figure of a young man standing in the shadows, his hands plucking invisible strings, his eyes forever searching the horizon. Some say this is Oisín’s ghost, cursed to play his harp for eternity, waiting for the day when he and Siobhán will be reunited.
But be warned: the music of Dún Mór is not for the living. Many who have heard it claim they felt an overwhelming sadness, as if the ghostly melody was calling them to join Oisín in his eternal vigil. A few have vanished, their last known location near the cliffs where Siobhán fell, as if the sea itself had swallowed them whole.
So, if you ever find yourself near the ruins of Dún Mór on a moonlit night, listen carefully. You might hear the faint strains of a harp carried on the wind. But tread lightly, for the music of the faeries is not to be taken lightly, and the sorrow of lost love lingers long after death.