The Makem & Spain Brothers: The Tradition Continues
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To Rathlin's Isle, I chanced to sail
When summer breezes softly blew
And there I heard so sweet a tale
That oft I wished it could be true
They say at eve when rude winds sleep
And hushed is every turbid swell
A mermaid rises from the deep
And sweetly tunes her magic shell

And as she plays, rock, dell and cave
In dying falls her sounds retain
As if some choal spirits gave
Their aid to swell her witching strain
And summoned by that dulcet note
Uprising to the admiring view
A fairy island seems to float
With tints of many a gorgeous hue

They also say if earth or stone
From verdant Erin's hallowed land
Were on this fairy island thrown
Forever fixed it then would stand
But if for this some little boat
In silence ventures from the shore
The mermaid sinks, hushed is the note
The fairy isle is seen no more