• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    Noreen of Shane

    If I rightly remember the month was September,
    And I was a-strolling up Mulligan’s lane;
    Half-way up the boreen I chanced to meet Noreen –
    And Noreen’s the comeliest colleen in Shane.

    I thought as I met her I could not do better
    Than linger awhile with the lass in the lane;
    She said she was hurried, however, she tarried;
    Och! She is a sly one, is Noreen of Shane.

    Says I, ‘I am sorry to hear of your hurry;
    I know that you hate to give anyone pain –
    And if you go past now, so terribly fast now,
    You’ll make me the mournfulest mortal in Shane.”

    Says she, “You are joking, that clay pipe you’re smoking,
    If it were now broken, ‘twould give you more pain;
    I know you, brave Barney, you’re good at the blarney –
    As many a maid know for miles around Shane.”

    Says I, “Truth I’m telling, my bosom is swelling
    With love that once wakened ne’er slumbers again;
    From wild Tulnaverin to far Mullaghcairn
    There is not the equal of Noreen of Shane.

    And as the stars nightly above us shine brightly
    Yet fade out of sight when the sun shines again,
    So all I could muster of maids in a cluster,
    Would dim ‘neath your lustre, oh, sun beam of Shane.”

    Says she, “You’re a poet, without learning to show it” –
    And then her sweet laugh lingered long in the lane.
    Says I, “you’re a seraph, if you had a pair of
    Light wings, you would fare off to Eden from Shane.”

    Says she, “You’re as clever a fellow as ever
    I met – all, dear Barney, you want is the brain.”
    Says I, “You’re mistaken; my heart you have taken –
    So all that I want is you, Noreen of Shane”.