• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    O, Teach Me, Blackbird

    Say, Blackbird! What’s the secret of your singing?
    Blithe hearld of the Spring!
    Why are your songs with rapture ever ringing?
    O, teach me thus to sing.

    Think not ‘tis a presumptuous stranger merely,
    Your confidence who woos;
    Like you, I am a rustic bard sincerely
    Devoted to the Muse.

    My heart, like yours, with love of Erin burning
    Pours out that love in song;
    Like you I hail delightful Spring returning
    Our fav’rite scenes among.

    ‘Mong your loved haunts I oft have been a ranger,
    Pining your voice to hear,
    Then think me not a too presumptuous stranger,
    But deem me quest sincere.

    Your songs are filled with wild spontaneous rapture –
    O, teach me thus to sing;
    Teach me the magic of your mirth to capture,
    O, Poet of the Spring!

    Sad notes come creeping in to tinge the gladness
    Of e’en my brightest lay;
    Alas! This world is full enough of sadness
    Without sad songs to-day.

    O, teach me, Blackbird! Till I banish sorrows
    Out of the hearts of men;
    And sweep away from Erin’s face all furrows,
    And from her heart all pain.

    Michael Mullin
    ‘The Bard of Foremass’

    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.