Green-mantled isle of rock-bound coast and hills,
Of smiling fields and hedgerows bright with flowers,
Of happy memories of leisured hours
Spent in thy glens and near thy babbling rills.
My heart with anguish near to breaking fills
When I am distant from thee in a strange land.
I conjure up visions of long white strand,
Of old thatched cottages and gaunt grey mills.
I think me of the giants and the elves,
The faeries and the dread phynnodderee;
The crofts, the pails, the bonnags and the churns;
I think of witches and sometimes “themselves”;
And yet, though wistful, each fond memory
Stirs me to laught whilst in me my heart burns!