O Wandering Minstrel from wherever you roam,
Come back again and warm hearts far away from home.
We'll listen 'bout the roaring fire, to ballads told so well,
Bring us back there, back again, with another tale to tell!
That skald I've seen, her green garb and red hair,
Wherever she walked, song's mirth was heard there.
Hand upon string, ne'er stayed was that ring,
Oh, the ballads that bard would sing!
She garbed in green, hear the soft sheen of her string,
She wanders in again, to the warm harp's ring.
Hand upon harp, songs warmer than hearth,
The songs she sings, and her mirth ever did she impart!
She walks afar upon the wanderer's road,
Though weary, upon the long-tread stones.
Singing still as she strides along,
That wandering minstrel still brings her blithe song!
