An isle so fair, a isle so green, known by many names
Feel the pulse, the pulse of the land
Blood boils within your veins
Someone go down to the Holy Well and raise the Spirits there!
Lay a feather on a stone, with a flame, and a lock of hair
The Crane, the wolf, the bear and the boar
No longer dwell upon these shores
You say that the Goddess and God have gone
Well I tell you they live on!
For in the cities and hills
And in circles of stone
The voices of the Old Ways
The Spirit of Albion is calling you home!
From Manwydden's crashing sea
To the moor and the Highland Glen
From the Faerie Hills, home of the Sidhe
To the veins of the Broad and the Fen
Someone go down to the Holy Trees
of Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Utter a charm in the verse of three
Till the Summer King is born!
Ride the white horses carved into the hills
Walk to the Hanging Stones
Bow to the might of Cerne Abbass' height
Feel the peace in the Ancestors' homes
Someone go down to Wilmington
where the Giant guards the way!
Step into the Otherworld, into the womb
Where centuries pass like a day!