Often has my heart wandered
To an ancient home of lore
Over the great Atlantic
To Shannon's far off shore,
Where the music from the pipes
Is calling to my soul
To come a'dancing there
In the land of green and gold,
To dance with merriment
At the sound of flute and strings;
And, with every note it hears,
My soul is yearning to be free
To stroll among the hills
Where fairy people dwell
Waiting for the unwary
To bring them under their spell-
And to see them dance at midnight
With fire and delight,
Then at dawn-disappear-
As if never in my sight,
To stroll amongst the people
Whose ancestors are my own
And walk along the streets
Of the places they call home,
To feel a familiarity
With a long ago time,
with stone and rolling hill
That were left behind
By so many aching hearts,
Who left their homes and more
To travel 'cross the Atlantic
Far from Shannon's shore.
And sometimes in the wee hours
When sleep softly slips away,
My heart steals back to Ireland
And wishes it could stay
There among the green hills
Where music tumbles down
To cross the ocean and time
And calls me with its sound.
Melinda Lancaster
