• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
  • Poem Banner
    Loud Roars The Breeze

    Loud roars the breeze among the trees

    That shield our house to-night
    While here I crouch in the chimney nook,
    So cosy, warm and bright.

    ‘Tis a pleasant place on a night like this –
    But if the night were fair,
    I’d restless be as waves of the sea,
    In this cosy nook and chair.

    I’d long to stay with my comrades gay
    (There ne’er were comrades kinder)
    Away I’d march for a wife to search –
    But fearing yet to find her.

    Now since from home I cannot roam
    ‘Neath these tempestuous skies:
    To pass the time I’d make a rhyme,
    And it may take a prize.

    The wild winds yell, they seem to tell
    That winter’s reign begins;
    “Tis well, indeed, I’ve a fire of peat
    At which to warm my shins.

    Comes another blast, worse than the last,
    Rain ‘gainst the window dashes;
    Close to the peat advances my feet –
    My toes are in the ashes.

    “Sit from the fire” – ‘tis the voice of my sire –
    “There’s a coal against your shoe.
    While you sit poeming – God help the woman
    That gets the like of you.”

    “I hope He will,” says I with zeal,
    “Bards are a privileged set;
    An’ I prophecy that proud you’ll be
    To be called my daddy yet.”

    “Well, well,” he says, “the rugged braes
    Of Fame’s step, lofty hills
    You yet may climb by th’ dint of rhyme –
    I believe in miracles.