• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
  • Poem Banner
    Exile Dream

    There’s a hill where the heather is growing,
    And the white-headed ceanabhans nod;
    Where the purest of breezes is blowing
    The sweetest of perfumes abroad;
    O! hill! where the curlews are screaming,
    ‘Tis long since I bade you good – bye.

    There’s a glen where the green thorn is hiding
    Beneath the white blossoms of June,
    And a silvery streamlet is gliding
    Along to a silvery tune;
    O! glen of sweet-scented grasses!
    That fall down the reaper before
    O! glen of the hay-making lasses!
    Shall ever I visit you more?

    There’s a wood with a cot through it peeping,
    There’s a garden where apple trees bloom,
    And roses are shyly up-creeping
    Towards a dear old-fashioned room;
    O! well-beloved cottage and wildwood!
    (O! rosy dreams withered and slain)
    O! far away home of my childhood!
    When, when shall I see you again?

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