I call to Aine, child of the deep salt sea,
sister of fair Aillen of the burning breath,
mother of clans long-lived and far-flung,
taker of the might of kings, shining with the sun,
in times of old, on the shortest of nights
did bold fires burn ‘til daybreak in your honor.
Aine, goddess, summer’s dearest daughter:
the fields of golden grain, the deep green grass, flowing
with the wind, these are yours; the light of love
and the wrath of the wronged, these too are in your realm.
Aine of the red mane, Aine of the black earth,
I praise your name, I honor your presence.