A solemn hush has settled o’er the valleys
And the clean-bosomed hills. The air is still;
No whisper in the tree-tops, and no rustle
In corn down on the holms or up the hill.

The songbirds all are mute; days of abundance
Have made them lazy.  The cuckoo is gone.
The corncrake’s resting. But the restless river,
In the hush seeming louder, carols on.

Potatoes look pale blue, their spray fresh on them;
The meadows’ aftermath is soft and green;
The lea’s a –bloom with buttercup and clover;
The slow-maturing corn inclines to lean.

The sky is overcast with heavy vapours,
Suddenly a bewildering and blinding flash
Of lightning, like a glittering dagger, pierces
The stillness – followed by a fearful crash.

The dread artillery of God now rumbles
Faint in the distance. Lightings play among
Dark clouds and vanish.  The persistent river
Once more resumes its interrupted song.

–

MICHAEL MULLIN

‘THE BARD OF FOREMASS’
FOREMASS LOWER, SIXMILECROSS, CO. TYRONE