Book of Invasions: A Celtic Symphony

Where Lagan stream sings lullaby, There blows a lily fair; When twilight gleam is in her eyes, The night is on her hair. And like a love - sick lenashee , She hath my heart in thrall; No life have I, no liberty, With love is lord of all . And sometim

High on the mountain stands a boat, But are they gods or real folk? We can't see the fire but we smell the smoke. Who'll take the plough? Who'll be the yoke? Night after night I don't believe. We are the ones you won't deceive. Not a thing will you a