There’s a high hill in Tyrone,
A high hill in Tyrone,
And as often as I think of it makes me sigh ochon!
For it brings a scene before me, from the
Dead sad past to bore me.
Yet the though of it is company when I am all alone.
There’s a steep hill in Tyrone,
A steep hill in Tyrone,
And its western side was then, and is, with wild furze overgrown;
And the furze were all ablooming – but they
Left my heart in glooming,
For I lost my heart among them – it was skillfully o’erthrown.
To this furze hill in Tyrone
This furze hill in Tyrone,
Love was stealthily in sunshine by the gentle breezes blown,
O! There was a face whose smiling, and
Soft dimples were beguiling,
And sweet laughter that sent ecstasy through me with every tone.
But that high hill in Tyrone,
That high hill in Tyrone,
Stands a monument o’er all those airy castles overthrown –
For grim Fate then came in and said No,
And my sad heart sighing read so;
O! how sad yet sweet to turn to youth’s bright love and fancies flown.
‘THE BARD OF FOREMASS’
FOREMASS LOWER, SIXMILECROSS, CO. TYRONE