To-day in dreams I stand on Carrickascopal,
On Carrickascopal with its golden crown;
Where Foremass smiles across at Altamuskin –
On either face no shadow of a frown.

Spring now is there; and song and beauty linger
On Carrickascopal, and each sunlit brae
And down the valley where the shining river
Pursues, with graceful curves, its pleasant way.

What dreams I dreamt of yore on Carrickascopal!
A sanguine and enthusiastic boy.
‘Mong dust of dreams and ghosts of vanished visions,
I feel a longing pain and a sad joy.

I know the birds now sing on Carrickascopal;
I know spring now has decked its gorse with gold –
But oh! I know not am I there remembered
By friend or playmate of the days of old.

Michael Mullin
‘The Bard of Foremass’

Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.

Oh! God be with the good old day’s
I spent upon the Foremass braes,
When youth was mine, and bare light feet
Scudded along in cold and heat.

In age our troubles fast approach,
Come pleasures in a slower coach
Fondly the eye of age looks back
O’er childhood’s far receding track.

I long to roam those braes again,
I long to stroll down Caldra glen
Where bossomed gorse, in green and gold
Exhibit beauties manifold.

O! sweet and pure, O pure and sweet
With scent of hay and breath of peat
On Carrickascapple soft winds blew –
When joys were rife and cares were few.

Cracrawee’s crown, lone ‘Sceog Bush’
Drumshambo graveyard  – how they rush
Back to my mind with memories dear
That claim a smile, or crave a tear.

In Foremass, happy homes I knew,
And bouchails brave and cailins true
But many a sad heart now is there,
And lonely hearth and vacant chair.

I wish to see old Foremass braes,
And tread them as in former days –
Oh, futile wishes, wishes vain!
I’ll ne’er see Foremass  braes again.

Michael Mullin

‘The Bard of Foremass’

Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.

No more as from a golden throne
I’ll gaze from gorse clad Brishmacree
Or Culnaheena, Barnasone
Or Carrickascoppal dear to me.

No more I’ll plough for daily bread
The Foremass fields of dark brown clay,
For Fate ordains that I must tread
The exile’s long and lonely way.

But haply yet beyond the foam
When slumber sets my spirit free
In dreams I’ll see the hills of home
Bernish, Foremass and Cracrawee.

Often in dreams I’ll rove the lanes
Of Shane and Cuilnaheena when
The lights are bright through window panes
From Mullaghbrack to Bernish Glen.

Michael Mullin

‘The Bard of Foremass’

Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.