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An isle so fair, a isle so green, known by many names. |
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Feel the pulse, the pulse of the land, |
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Blood boils within your veins. |
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Someone go down to the Holy Well and raise the Spirits there! |
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Lay a feather on a stone, with a flame, and a lock of hair. |
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Chorus: |
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The Crane, the wolf, the bear and the boar, |
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No longer dwell upon these shores, |
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You say that the Goddess and God have gone, |
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Well I tell you they live on! |
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For in the cities and hills, |
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And in circles of stone, |
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The voices of the Old Ways, |
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The Spirit of Albion is calling you home! |
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From Manwydden's crashing sea, |
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To the moor and the Highland Glen. |
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From the Faerie Hills, home of the Sidhe, |
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To the veins of the Broad and the Fen. |
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Someone go down to the Holy Trees |
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Of Oak and Ash and Thorn! |
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Utter a charm in the verse of three, |
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Till the Summer King is born! |
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Ride the white horses carved into the hills, |
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Walk to the Hanging Stones. |
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Bow to the might of Cerne Abbass' height, |
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Feel the peace in the Ancestors' homes. |
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Someone go down to Wilmington |
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Where the Giant guards the way! |
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Step into the Otherworld, into the womb, |
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Where centuries pass like a day! |
