Lyrics - The Eastern Fells

Walk to the raise where the king was slain,
Above the fields and the hawthorn hedge,
Up to the crags where the dead man lay,
Watched by his dog near the Striding Edge,

Then down to the dale where the squirrels play,
By the mossy church with the tinkling bell,
The way ahead is long and hard,
So rest your limbs by St. Patrick's well,

Then climb the slopes to the Angle Tarn,
To the scudding clouds ion the Caesar's road,
Where unshod ponies wild and free,
On grassy slopes make their abode,

In the dale of the pines and the giant's graves,
At the waterfall by the wooden gate,
I sang goodbye to the mountain slopes,
Farewell to the village beneath the lake...