A climbing, crooked road there runs between
The farm I work on and my plot of peat –
“Twix Altamuskin brown and Foremass green –
The turf that warms me and the food I eat.

And when I start from Foremass, this rough way
More rugged grows the farther I proceed –
Just like the road of life; the boggy brae
At the far end is dangerous indeed.

Ah! many a day and many a year have I,
In this old cart (my father’s cart – now mine).
Gone jogging, where the long-beaked curlews cry,
And plump brown moorfowl on the heather dine.

The scent of dying hay, the breath of peat,
Gold ‘mong the green and purple ‘mong the brown.
The Autumn wind’s weird harping – all were sweet;
And mingled in my dreams, up hill and down.

With all its ruts and jolts, this crowded road
Is dear to me. I wish that I were now
Returning home across it with a load;
But still it rains. To God’s Will we must bow.

Michael Mullin’, ‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.

Alone with God upon the mountain side,
Where heather bells abound, where moor-fowl ‘bide!
Sweet, oh! ‘tis sweet, for one bright summer day,
To hide from care on Altamuskin Brae.

The bogland greets me in its grandest dress,
The bogwind meets me with a fond caress,
And heather banners wave to welcome me
Up to the top – the Altar of the Free.

I climb – I reach the giant mountain’s head;
I stand – I gaze on beauty far outspread.
The bogwind;s fingers comb the giant’s hair,
A singing lark climbs up a sunbeam stair.

O, cool sweet wind that comes from far away!
O, warm sunshine on Altamuskin Brae!
O peace! O joy! One summer day to ‘bide
Alone with God upon the mountain side!

Michael Mullin ‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone

This mountain looks upon Belleek:
Belleek surverys the sea;
And I stand on this mountain’s peak –
A poet wild and free.

Why do I say that I am wild?
And why of Freedom boast?
I am this savage mountain’s child,
Unchained to any post.

The land, an open map, below;
Above, the heavens extend;
And I can let my fancies go
Beyond the world’s end.

Yon lark that carols in the sky
Is my companion meet;
It sings for me, and for it I
Compose my ditties sweet.

The moorwinds sweeping o’er the heath
Dance merrily along;
And while I feel their cooling breath,
I hear their happy song.

Alone with God upon this peak –
With God, for He is here;
In songs of birds I hear Him speak
Sweet words of love and cheer.

Remote from men, alone with God,
A poet wild and free –
My roof, the heavens high and broad,
My floor, the land and sea.
…………….
Meet – fit or suitable

Michael Mullin ‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone