The roads that I rambled in childhood, the
roads that in boyhood I roved,
The roads that I love now in manhood
more dearly than ever I loved:
On no map of the world you will find
them, nor yet on an Irish one –
But traced on a map in my heart are these
quiet old roads of Tyrone.
Full often I tramped them in winter when
white with a carpet of snow,
And in autumn when littered with leaves
Which the winds of the autumn laid low,
And in summer and spring when the
fields were as green as the emerald stone –
Green fields through which white roads
are winding, the quiet white roads of Tyrone.

When the work of the day has been done,
and unfurled is the banner of night,
And the darkness unveils to us wonderers
unseen in the dazzling daylight;
‘Tis one of my sweetest enjoyments to
ramble these roads at my ease –
Leaving labour and trouble behind me – to
list to the croon of the breeze.
To gaze on the glorious sky studded over
With numberless stars.
To breath in the silence unbroken by engines
of hurrying cars.
To think of the past, and to dream of the
friends of days that are gone,
And comrades who’ve sought other roads
than the quiet old roads of Tyrone.

In the old Irish cart I’d be happier jogging
these roads to my work.
Than if drawn in a beautiful coach through
the gorgeous streets of New York.
For the smile of the faces met here is the
sunshine that warms the heart.
Ah! many a sad exile sighs for the sound
of an Irish cart.
On the white roads meandering onwards
o’er high hill and valley serene –
Like strips of white lace woven, into a
vesture of purple and green.
Ah! God bless the roads of my childhood,
deep into my heart they  have grown –
The quiet meandering roads, the beloved
old roads of Tyrone.

MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass’,
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.

I love the little things of grace
That beautify my native place;
The blithe song birds, the sweet wild-flowers,
The spells of sunshine and the showers.

The sun-reflecting cottage panes;
Carts rattling over roads and lanes;
The snowdrops in the storms a-bloom
That gladden us ‘mid winter gloom.

I love the robin as it grieves
O’er faded joys ‘mong faded leaves;
I like the way it tilts its head
To cheek me for a crumb of bread.

I love the artless loveliness
Of country girls in rustic dress;
School-children dallying awhile
O’er a bird’s nest or a flower’s smile.

An old man by his cottage door
Culling dream-shells on childhood’s shore;
Or in the scrap-book of the past
Reviewing scenes that fled too fast.

A jocund thrush, a joyful lark,
A corncrake shouting in the dark;
Dearer to me these little things
Than worldly wealth or pomp of kings.

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

Newspaper cutting – won a prize of
Half a guinea in The Sunday Independent

He was a poor orphan nobody reared,
Johnny just reared himself
Johnny self-reared grew big and strong
Jolly and kind and bold
In his eye a smile, on his lips a song
In his bosom a heart of gold.
In search of his home ideal, he
Followed his guiding star
Over the hills and over the sea,
He travelled far and far.

He climbed high hill, crossed many steams
He roamed as seekers roam
And sailed on many seas
But seldom came back, except in dreams
To the house, his childhood home.

To the Crocknagulpa trees
I believe his ideal home was not
This side of heaven’s shore.
And I feel he has found the land he sought
For he writes back no more.

Johnny was a first cousin of granda Bard’s. Granda’s mother and Johnny’s mother were two sisters.  His mother died we think in childbirth when her daughter Maggie was born.  Maggie was reared in Foremass along with granda and his family. Maggie’s married name was Tierney and she lived in Shane. Johnny’s family were known as ‘Mullin’s of the bushes’ – Crocknagulpa – Shane Road.  He died on his way back from Australia in Calafornia in the 1920’s or 30’s and is buried there.  He did write to granda about his travels and in one letter described coming into San Francisco harbour and the Golden Gate.  His brother Patrick emigrated to New York and died and is buried there.