• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    The leaves are flying – it is near October;
    The corn is gathered and the turf all home.
    The trees are sighing – it is near October,
    And wild geese calling as afar they roam.
    The nights are dismal and the days are dreary,
    The fog is heavy and the winds are cold –
    Cold heralds of the coming Winter weary –
    The pleasant story of the Summer’s told.

    Life’s year is flying – we are near October;
    Our flow’rs are fading and our locks go grey.
    Our hearts are sighing – we are near October;
    Like wild geese flying are our thoughts away.
    Like leaves in Autumn have our young hopes perished;
    Our only pleasure is in turning back
    And dreaming over all the dreams we cherished,
    And in retracting the old beaten track.

    Pale ghosts are flying as we near October –
    This ghost of visionary hopes of yore;
    Pale ghosts are sighing as we near October
    Of friends we used to see, but see no more.
    O sad, sweet memories! O leaves low lying,
    Down-troden; neath the march of modern times;
    Dear old-time echoes, ‘mid the breezes’ sighing.
    Still haunt me to the last like old school rhymes.

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

    Fear says tis folly still to try
    Despair advises me to yield
    But “No surrender” I reply
    I will not quit the battlefield.

    For Hope high on the mountain top
    Serenly points towards the dawn
    And Courage whispers “Don’t give up”
    And Perseverance cried “Keep on!”

    Soul-weary plodding up the slopes
    (Far stars I glimpse thro’ mist and rain)
    Heart-heavy with frustrated hopes,
    I stumble, fall and rise again.

    Still I am master of my mind
    And of my soul I’m captain still
    My “No surrender”, on the wind
    Proclaims my progress up the hill.

    I am not yet a ship in tow
    Depending on another’s aid
    Crippled, but still I’m fit to go
    Off beaten but still undismayed.

    Fear says ‘tis vain again to try
    ‘Give up’ Despair advises me
    But “No Surrender” I reply
    A coward I will never be.

    For Hope high on her mountain top
    Smiles with the glowing smile of dawn
    And courage counsels “Don’ give up”
    Cries Pereseverence Carry on”.

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

    Fotenote by P.D:
    Those of you who are of the Bard and Jack family know that we are somewhat steadfast and those of you who know us would probably say we are THICK.  My father in this poem puts these sentiments into verse with meter and rhyming.  Its called ‘No Surrender’.

    It blew into my garden,
    A breeze soft and mild;
    It chased away the chill
    Of a winter wild;
    And the pale faced snowdrops
    Looked up and smiled.

    On the bleak hill of Age
    I was walking alone
    When a tender recollection
    From boyhood flown
    Met me: – the bleakness
    Far away was blown.

    A kindly mem’ry travels
    A long long road –
    A lift, a gift, or a smile bestowed.
    Kindness is the key
    To joy’s abode.

    MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass’,
    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.
    Sent 17 Feb ‘47