Singer was Irish, The

It was Christmas Eve in London 
And the snow lay on the ground.
Thro' a window of a cottage 
I was passing came a sound.
Someone played an old piano. 
As the hands stole o'er the keys,
I was taken back in fancy 
To my home across the seas,
For he sang a song that fill'd my heart 
With boyhood memories.

The singer was Irish, the song was Irish
And each note seemed to come from the sky.
The dear old refrain I heard once again
And the words brought a tear to my eye:
"Come back to Erin, mavourneen, mavourneen."
Long I lingered at the door,
For the great old song made me long
To be safe in my home once more.

Evr'y word the singer uttered.
Struck a chord within my breast.
Seemed to bring a loving message.
From the place that I loved best.
Just as one who hears glad tidings.
I was filled with ecstasy,
For I knew it was the old land.
Softly calling unto me.
Through the medium of that angel voice
And the sweet melody.

As the melody ascended, 
I could see so plain once more
The dear home that I was born in, 
Nestling by the Shannon's shore,
And I saw a gray-haired woman 
Take my hand in fond embrace.
As she falter'd out "Acushla, 
When you leave the dear old place?
May the best of luck attend you 
In the world you're going to face"