Hy-Brasil
Out a’high in lashin’ waves
a’crashin’ anger’d sea
b’yond Albion an’ Hibernia
where mists a’shadow’d, lowly
o’ magical Isle o’ Hy-Brasil
tentacl’d ocean beast ther’ tore
fear’d sailors away lest they would set
o’er realms o’Gods who saw
o’ bare foot giants wi’ call o’ crow
blacken’d eyes an’ skies sang red
they threw th’ rocks in war’s a’haze
their sea’s a’wet wi’ blood
upon Hibernia’s shore they fled
left myth n’ myst-eries
devour’d by a mighty beast
etern’ wi’ At-lan-tis
The scent of the sea in Erin's cool air
Captivates me and I wish I were there.
Such colors displayed in ivy that crawls
Weaving its way over ancient rock walls.
I recall my awe of every hue
The last time I bid sweet Erin adieu.
I felt embraced by Autumn's breezy arms
When deeply engaged by all of her charms.
Pipes that were played in a passing parade,
Impassioned mem'ries over hill and glade,
Help to remind me that once long ago
My ancestors lived, yet had to let go.
They journeyed across the turbulent sea
To reach a new land in home of the free.
I always rejoice in songs we still sing
When feelings return that fall colors bring.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Note:
[1]Poets and nineteenth-century Irish nationalists used Erin in English as a romantic name for Ireland.[2] Often, "Erin's Isle" was used. In this context, along with Hibernia, Erin is the name given to the female personification of Ireland, but the name was rarely used as a given name, probably because no saints, queens, or literary figures were ever called Erin. [3]According to Irish mythology and folklore, the name was originally given to the island by the Milesians after the goddess Ériu.
Bird around the bay of white and swoops aloft the air
Descends upon the deck and lays a top a chair
Dear bird me thinks I leave my land to forage and to bare
And now my suit has got your fruits on shoulder and on hair
Tis luck shouts out a cabin crew success to you will come
Mean time I'll sidle down the lane the laundry mat I run
Dear mother cries a second gone. I cried from train to ship
One day return a penny more two sons upon a trip
Fair city crown from westland row beyond the port a bay
To sail to Forests hard and cold Fort William leads the way
The work is hard my fathers tale dont work with rocks and dams
Hibernia is a boldly spot a rugged place he bans
The uncle's bar a whisk'y jar serve porter strong and mean
Two bars my uncle holds right now upon the goebels green
A war you'll go his comments show now to work for one small bob
Dear uncle be more kindly now for I have a new a job
No longer work at wasted rates his mother would be shocked
My brother dear you stay well clear a slave who holds a mop
I love you mother and long to see you smile and praise your lot
900 miles return to you show Eirean what you got.
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