The shy and shaggy mountain sheep are bleating on the hill
In a landscape scarcely touched by man where time seems to stand still.
The distance seems to disappear each time I visualize
And the skylark he is carolling as up towards the clouds he flies
And tiny rivulets from the mountain glittering in the mid day sun
Down to the dark Lake of Gortavehy through the het and bracken run.
In the high valley by the mountain gorse and het and bracken grow
And it’s been said that the old Gaelic Bards in the centuries ago
Found the soul food and the inspiration for their poems and songs and lays
By the lake of Gortavehy in Sliabh Luachra’s glory days.
To visualize comes easy and then distance disappear
And the skylark o’er the valley I fancy I can hear
And the trout swims to the shallows for to feel the sun’s warm ray
In the dark Lake of Gortavehy by the mountains far away.