5th March 2022
Michael The Bard’s son Patrick Dan Mullin, passed away suddenly in Dublin aged 92.
Patrick Dan was the driving force behind the publication of Michael’s poems. PD showed huge pride and honour when speaking of his father’s work and his stories and tales were always wonderful to hear.
With his passing brings the end of an incredible generation of “The Bards”.
It was an honour to have known and worked alongside this inspirational man.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam
In Memoriam
We mourn the great departed:
We mourn our chieftain gone:
That Star hath set in Eirinn
That long o’er Eirinn shone.
The four sad winds of Eirinn
Carry the wail afar,
From the sad hearts in Eirinn
To where our exiles are.
God sent that Star to guide us
On to His blest abode:
While many a smooth road lured us
From the rough, narrow road.
God spared us long that Lighthouse
Above the billows dark,
When hidden rocks and tempests
Threatened the struggling bark.
His good and great achievement
Have fashioned, high and broad
A pyramid ascending
From Eirinn up to God.
No need for us to praise him
To him earth’s praise was dross
No need for us to mourn him:
But, oh: we mourn our loss.
A Star hath set in Eirinn:
Still darkling on we grope:
Lo! a new Star in heaven
Filling our hearts with hope.
MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass’,
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.
Verse 4 – bark or barque – a ship
Verse 6 – dross – refuse – of no value
Cissie “The Bard” Mullin, Michael’s daughter in law passed away 23rd June 2021.
She had a great devotion to the Sacred Heart.
May God have mercy on her gentle Soul.
O Sacred Heart of Jesus
‘Tis a simple little prayer
And it isn’t hard to say
You can say it anywhere,
In the night or in the day;
And the oftener you say it
The better you shall be;
‘Tis “Sacred Heart of Jesus
I place my trust in Thee.”
It makes your crosses lighter,
It softens every pain
It makes your soul grow whiter
Until the crown you gain.
‘Twill grow to be your sweetest song
On air or land or sea
“Sacred Heart of Jesus
I place my trust in Thee.”
The leaves are flying – it is near October;
The corn is gathered and the turf all home.
The trees are sighing – it is near October,
And wild geese calling as afar they roam.
The nights are dismal and the days are dreary,
The fog is heavy and the winds are cold –
Cold heralds of the coming Winter weary –
The pleasant story of the Summer’s told.
Life’s year is flying – we are near October;
Our flow’rs are fading and our locks go grey.
Our hearts are sighing – we are near October;
Like wild geese flying are our thoughts away.
Like leaves in Autumn have our young hopes perished;
Our only pleasure is in turning back
And dreaming over all the dreams we cherished,
And in retracting the old beaten track.
Pale ghosts are flying as we near October –
This ghost of visionary hopes of yore;
Pale ghosts are sighing as we near October
Of friends we used to see, but see no more.
O sad, sweet memories! O leaves low lying,
Down-troden; neath the march of modern times;
Dear old-time echoes, ‘mid the breezes’ sighing.
Still haunt me to the last like old school rhymes.
MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.