What joy to wander o’er this mountain lonely,
My pent soul fluttering with rapture rare,
Unfettered fancies for companions only:
I float above earth’s petty toil and care!
‘Tis sweet to rest upon this giant’s bosom:
Sweeter to perch upon his princely crown,
While soft winds croon to heather in full blossom –
A regal robe of purple and of brown.
I shut my eyes – I hear the curlews calling –
Screams that should rouse the giant from his rest,
I ope my eyes – I see a lark down falling:
Or is it some bright spirit of the blest?
The hills, the plains, the valleys lie before me;
(Who would not love so beautiful a land?)
A roof magnificent, high heaven, is o’er me
By sunshine warmed, by cooling zephyrs fanned.
Alone with God upon the lonely mountain!
Each thought, each fancy is a prayer to Him;
My soul o’erflows with love towards the Fountain
Of Love. The world is far away and dim.
Michael Mullin ‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone