Verse 1 Where the dawn spills gold on a land of green clover, And Irish lilies nod where the old hedgerows lean, I walked the soft ridge where the skylark hovered over, Counting heartbeats to the rhythm of spring. The breeze hummed low with a fiddle and whistle, The bogs kept secrets the children still tell— But from the corner of my eye, like a wink in the thistle, I spotted a leprechaun dancing through the dell. Chorus (the little man sings) Bithidh mi 'm measg nan seamrag Am measg nan dùl uaine, Àite bu thoilichte nach fhaca mi riamh. Bithidh mi 'm measg nan seamrag Am measg nan dùl uaine, Àite bu thoilichte nach fhaca mi riamh. Verse 2 He wore a cap like a sunset, his beard a bright ember, Orange as cider and the coals of a hearth, He spun with a grin that made old hearts remember The mischief and magic that live in the earth. His feet struck the turf with a drumbeat of laughter, Stitching new patterns of joy in the green— He danced round the shamrocks, the here and the after, A flash of orange fire in the world of the mean. Chorus (all join) Bithidh mi 'm measg nan seamrag Am measg nan dùl uaine, Àite bu thoilichte nach fhaca mi riamh. Bithidh mi 'm measg nan seamrag Am measg nan dùl uaine, Àite bu thoilichte nach fhaca mi riamh. Bridge (spoken-sung, soft) Oh, the river leaned closer to hear his small tune, The willow bowed down like an old parish moon. He tipped me his cap and he winked with a cheer— "Take heed," said he, "there's wonder still near." Verse 3 So we danced by the stone where the shamrocks were thickest, He whispered of meadows no map could reveal, Of summers that stay and of winters grown quickless, And love that is honest as wheel to its wheel. The lilies bent forward to drink in the chorus, The bog cotton fluffed like a bride in her veil— From the corner of my eye turned a whole world before us, Where orange and green braided tales without fail. Chorus (full, bright) Bithidh mi 'm measg nan seamrag Am measg nan dùl uaine, Àite bu thoilichte nach fhaca mi riamh. Bithidh mi 'm measg nan seamrag Am measg nan dùl uaine, Àite bu thoilichte nach fhaca mi riamh. Outro (fading, with fiddle and bodhrán) So if ever you wander where clover grows deeper, And lilies keep watch o'er the lanes by the mill, Look out of the corner of your eye for a leaper— An orange-haired friend with a heart to refill. He’ll sing you the chorus in old Gaelic measure, And leave you with laughter and luck for your days— Bithidh mi 'm measg nan seamrag, the tune of our treasure, In the green of the fields and the sun’s lingering blaze.