The singing of a river down a valley
In Ireland far away seems near at hand;
Despite the din and distance of this city
I hear that ditty, low and clear and bland.
I never will forget the little cow-boy
The herded cattle where its waters flow,
In memory the scene is mirrored clearly –
For oh! I dearly loved it long ago.
The singing of that river is a blending
Of dreams of youth and truth and love and home.
At times its very sweetness is an arrow
Of pain and sorrow, while I toil or roam.
Albeit it saddens, I will hearken to it!
For ‘tis my solemn Monitor. It says –
“Forget me not, if you would e’er recapture
The peace, the rapture of your cow-boy days.”
The ringing of a river down a valley
In Ireland far away seems near at hand.
Despite the distance and this noisy city,
I hear that ditty low and clear and bland.
‘THE BARD OF FOREMASS’
FOREMASS LOWER, SIXMILECROSS, CO. TYRONE