• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    O! softly, gently, glide along,
    Ye summer airs, and sweetly croon;
    For Mary walks her fields among,
    This afternoon.

    Now look your best, ye summer flowers,
    Your sweetest perfume scatter here,
    To gladden ‘mong your blooming bow’rs
    My Mary dear.

    O! sun beam brightly from on high
    Ye rills, make music bland and clear;
    Sing o’er her, skylark in the sky-
    O’er Mary dear.

    And all ye sylvan songsters, sing,
    Your finest melodies repeat;
    Till all the woods with welcome ring
    For Mary sweet.

    When Mary sings on summer eves,
    The songbirds furl their little wings,
    And listen ‘mong the trembling leaves-
    When Mary sings.

    O! Mary, empress of my heart,
    No wonder the departing sun,
    To kiss thee lingers, sloth to part
    My darling one.