From the ridge that cleaves the rivers,
From the brow that raised the oak
Came the distant sound of drumming,
Came the songs the singers spoke.
From the Boyne beyond Clonmullen,
To the Figile's gurgling source
We have looked, and we have listened,
We have heard their souls' discourse.
Can the sounds of country music
Orchestrated from above,
Came the stories of the ballads'
Unrequited world of love,
Came the lilting of a heartbeat,
Reel on reel, then reel about,
Came the choirs integrating,
Celebrating and devout.
Came the story of the talents
Each was given, each to use,
How the master on returning
Found them faithful to their muse...
Troubadours of sylvan songtime
Strolling through an evening light,
Ceol na móna on the heather
A barge retreating through the night. |