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MUSIC OF THE BARD
The soft sweet mist hangs o,er the glen
in the fine pearly light of dawn,
The sullen sky casts down a glow from the
bluish black grey morn
On the hills above sits a lonely Bard,
sings Celtic days of yore,
and the haunting lilt of his faithful harp
like the voice of Angels soar.
Down in the Valley be the bould brave men,
chanting a song to war,and out in the fields
be the wee young lads,aglow with the fight and
the Lore,
The Bard sings his song to the lonely day,
and the harp like an Angel soars
"Hearken sweet harp to the Sound of them cry"
the Bard he do softly say,listen now kind
for the feel of their heart,the beat of it
proud and true,Hearken old friend to the sound
of their pain,and the music will come to you
And the harp standeth still,and be listening a while,
to the sound and the call of the bold,
It do catch the nuance of every brave Lad
Who breathes out a cry to be told!!
Then the Bard lay him down,his old head on yon harp,
awaiting all feeling of pain,
And the sad mournful cry of an Old Gaelic Harp
singeth on throught the years and the Rain
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