By the standing stones at the edge of the hill, Where the heather sways and the night grows still, I heard her name in the whispering rain, Old as the earth, older than our pain. She walks the paths where the wild things roam, Far from the cross and the bell of Rome. Her crown is fern, her cloak is night, She guards the fire of the ancient light. Oh, lady of the hollow glen, Keeper of the days before men, If I lose my way in the fading glow, Let your wild wind tell me where to go. She knows the names of the rivers’ bones, The songs once carved into buried stones. She speaks in dreams to the sleepless child, Calling them back to the forest wild. Oh, lady of the hollow glen, Keeper of the days before men, If I lose my way in the fading glow, Let your wild wind tell me where to go. Not in the book and not in the prayer, But out in the dark where the hawk cuts air. She waits for hearts that still understand The living soul of the breathing land. Oh, lady of the hollow glen, Walk beside me now and then. When my faith in steel and stone runs low, Let your wild wind tell me where to go.
