O' The Land, The Old Land ©
Upon the roll of the pagan's dream
As it leaps and bounds upon the mental stream
Flowing down into the cordons of solitaire
Near the brigs of the banks of Bonnie Aye.
The whispering Hazel catches hold the tune
Echoing the mysteries all the way to Troon
As a glimmer of lightning crosses the Sky
He, that ancient and grand Wizard stands upon Carrick high.
Configurations and transformations by god
Far beyond the concepts of the blundering sod
Catch hold Lad the spirit as it flies past ye
Heading out towards Arran across the sea.
Does not the Seagull scream to enchant the Seamen
and the wind blows like some evil melody played by a Demon
And do not wait too long to grasp the chain
Of life's faithful given, the Barley, Wheat and Grain.
But come see the Mother upon her Earth filled seat
As to the wondrous farmer She bows to Greet
That upon the Seasons of echoed fate they may come to restore
The True religion of this land, of this flaming shore.
Now listen and be quiet till pass all hours break
and bind you together the dreams and thoughts that you take
and cast it all upon the Fires of Beltanes torch
and watch as the flames reach higher and higher, the heavens to scorch.