Beside the fire

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Beside the Fire
Hi Fergus,

I really wanted to attend today. I also, want to wish you a happy easter and leave this poem with you.

                                        Beside the Fire
                                Where glows the Irish hearth with peat
                                    There lives a subtle spell -
                                The faint blue smoke, the gentle heat,
                                    The moorland odours tell

                                Of white roads winding by the edge
                                    Of bare, untamed land,
                                Where dry stone wall or ragged hedge
                                    Runs wide on either hand

                                To cottage lights that lure you in
                                    From rainy western skies ;
                                And by the friendly glow within
                                    Of simple talk and wise,

                                And tales of magic, love or arms
                                    From days when princes met,
                                To listen to the lay that charms
                                    The Connacht peasant yet.

                                There honour shines through passions dire,
                                    There beauty blends with mirth -
                                With hearts, ye never did aspire
                                    Wholly for things on earth !

                                Cold, cold this thousand years - yet still
                                    On many a time-stained page
                                Your pride, your truth, your dauntless will
                                    Burn on from age to age.

                                And still around the fires of peat
                                    Live on the ancient days ;
                                There still do living lips repeat
                                    The old and deathless lays.

                                And when the wavering wreaths ascend
                                    Blue in the evening air,
                                The soul of Ireland seems to bend
                                    Above her children there.

Male Vocals, Blues, Party