There’s a mountain crowned with heather
In the far-off land, asthore!
Where we dallied oft together
In the distant days of yore.
Then, in August and September,
‘Twas a lovely sight to see –
As I’m sure you will remember
If you still remember me.
Once I plucked a heather blossom,
And I set it in your hair;
And you pinned one on my bosom –
O, how happy we were there!
O, those moments fair and fleeting!
Sanguine hopes, and visions high!
O, the rapture of each meeting!
And the pain of each good-bye!
Scenes of youth I well remember,
Though my youth and prime are o’er;
But in August and September
I am haunted by them more:
Haunted till a sad, wild longing
Grips me, fills me with unrest,
And the old home scenes come thronging,
And old loves disturb my breast.
Then the peewit’s lonesome crying,
And the curlew’s plaintive call
Come to me, when day is dying,
And the gleaming shadows fall;
And they fan hope’s fading ember,
Those dear scenes again to see –
Which I’m sure you still remember
If you still remember me.
MICHAEL MULLIN
‘THE BARD OF FOREMASS’
FOREMASS LOWER, SIXMILECROSS, CO. TYRONE