My love lived near Knockmanny;
Though but a poor man’s son,
He was noble and kind-hearted –
His home a happy one.
He tilled his father’s acres,
And his heart was light and gay,
Till o’er the foam began to roam
His thoughts from home away.

I, too, lived near Knockmanny;
Much wealth my parents had;
I was their only daughter,
And I was seldom sad,
Till my father sternly told me
I must cease my love to see –
Because he was a poor man
And not a match for me.

His home beside Knockmanny
My love soon left behind;
He left me sad and lonely,
He left his parents kind.
He told me; “I’ll come back dear,
When the yellow gold I’ve won;
And then perhaps your father
Will not scorn a poor man’s son.”

O! beautiful Knockmanny
The years may come and go;
But round thee still shall linger
Fond dreams of long ago.
Thy emerald crown and wooded sides
Recall to me the day
When love first thrilled my young heart,
For him who went away.

O! beautiful Knockmanny,
Romantic storied hill,
Thy sylvan sides and silent ways
I love to wander still;
Where oft with me he listened
To the song-birds in the trees,
And that sad, yet pleasing, music
The sighing of the breeze.

Knockmanny O! Knockmanny,
Now be a friend to me ;
For my poor heart is broken
I want thy sympathy.
My love will come back never
My love no more will tread
Thy sylvan sides and silent paths
For, oh! my love is dead.

Knockmanny O! Knockmanny,
It was for me he died –
It was for me he went from thee,
And crossed the ocean wide.
Oh! cursed wealth, I hate thee;
Oh! why are people proud
Does Death heed wealth or titles,
Or put pockets in the shroud?

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