I’m hearing the call of the waves to the shore
When night-shadows lie on the sea,
And the passionate hunger that throbs at it’s core
Is the cry of an exile, who longs,
Ellan Vannin, for thee!
I’m hearing the cry of the wind to the hill,
It’s low wail of longing and pain,
And the long note of heartbreak that beats through it still
Is the moan of the dying, who thirst
For thoir Homeland in vain.



Back index next


Any comments, errors or omissions gratefully received The Editor
HTML Transcription © F.Coakley , 2000