This page was created by Maren Connell.
The Land of the Gael
I wish I was westward of Dingle
On the golden sands of Beál Bán
Where I’d wait for the mountain of Brandon
To appear in the red light of dawn
I’d gaze over Smerwick Harbour
See the yacht with its billowing sail
My body is here in the Bowery
But my heart’s in the Land of the Gael
Too free with the juice of the barley
It softens my will and my brain
And whenever I save a few dollars
I fall off the wagon again
But I’m thinking of Kerry in Ireland
The Blaskets and fair Ceann Sibéal
When the sun is a red ball of fire
As it sets on the Land of the Gael
In my mind's eye I see every detail
her mountains, valleys and seas,
The butterfly dancing a hornpipe,
the thistledown flying in the breeze,
The fuschia, loosestrife and cowparsley,
the primrose that blooms in the vale,
I'll pick the wild flowers in the summer time
when I'm back in the Land of the Gael.
Now the wind like a knife it goes through me
and with hunger I'm ready to fall,
And the snowflakes are swirling around me
as I head for the Church Mission Hall,
I hear the sweet song of the skylark,
and I list to the curlew's sad wail,
As over the ocean they call me
to come back to the Land of the Gael.
For it's fifty long years since I left it,
a young fellow still in my teens,
Did I ever return now you ask me -
I go back every night in my dreams,
Yes the call of my homeland's all powerful,
and I'm certain this time I'll not fail,
Then I'll hear my own tongue and again
I'll be young when I'm home in the Land of the Gael.
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