“In the misty hills of Ireland
A long, long time ago,
There lived a lovely Irish lass
Who loved her father so.
One day he went to fetch some wood,
But he did not soon return,
And so his loving daughter’s heart
Was filled with great concern.
She searched for him throughout the day,
And when a fog came in
She wept, for she was fearful
They would never meet again.
Then suddenly, a little band
Of faeries happened by.
They all were so saddened.
To hear the lovely maiden cry.
They asked if they might have a lock
Of her long and golden hair,
Then tied the silken strands across
A crooked limb with care.
‘Twas a magic harp they’d made,
And when the maiden touched each strand,
The music led her father home
Across the misty land.
And to this day the harp remains
A cherished symbol of
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