• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    O Little River

    O, little river running over pebbles!
    Full many a tender mem’ry I recall,
    While list’ning by your margin to your murmur,
    And  watching brown leaves on your bosom fall.

    There’s sweetness in the music of your making;
    There’s solace in the stillness of your glen;
    There’s beauty in yourself and your surroundings,
    Unrivalled ‘mid the hives of hurried men.

    The magic of your mirror leaves me gazing
    Down on the flying clouds and azure sky.
    Longtime I watch our forward running rapids,
    Till backward up your course I seem to hie.

    The crooning of November winds above you,
    The murmur of your ripples at my feet,
    The mingling of these melodies together
    To a world-weary care-worn heart, how sweet!

    Michael Mullin

    ‘The Bard of Foremass’

    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.