Welcome Stranger come and hear the words that draw the heavens near and listen to it's breeze that blows from the East of whose Ancient cast melody tames Man and Beast.
For Tis a song so old that time has forgot the writer of its winds wherein it's Lyrics are caught But it's secrets may be heard and it's power felt within the heart and mind of a truthful Celt.
For its words though obscure hold the greatest key for all the descendants to come and see The place where verse and rhyme equate with time to show man's greatness and his crime.
Tis a place where all may come to Ken the song Of the Bard over Hill and Glen Tis a song of Being, Of Life's joy and its pain O'Blissful tender passions and tortures mournful slain.
Tis a Journey back into the past,a relic of times gone and yet a journey into the future, O'Life's greatest song So Welcome stranger into a World of verbal fantasy and to the inspirations of this Bardic Rhapsody.
After the wolves and before the elms the bardic order ended in Ireland.
Only a few remained to continue a dead art in a dying land:
This is a man on the road from Youghal to Cahirmoyle. He has no comfort, no food and no future. He has no fire to recite his friendless measures by. His riddles and flatteries will have no reward. His patrons sheath their swords in Flanders and Madrid.
Reader of poems, lover of poetry— in case you thought this was a gentle art follow this man on a moonless night to the wretched bed he will have to make:
The Gaelic world stretches out under a hawthorn tree and burns in the rain. This is its home, its last frail shelter. All of it— Limerick, the Wild Geese and what went before— falters into cadence before he sleeps: He shuts his eyes. Darkness falls on it.