Cry not o' mother,
For it is to bring peace that I am gone,
The land will feed me
And the sea shall rock my cradle of stone
...
I.
O' Child I see, playing near the fast moving stream,
in summer time, climbing a tree
...
It started as a small light,
a friendly glance, an unguarded half-smile,
with time, it grew bright,
feet together, left and right,
...