The mountains of old Ireland bold sentinels they stand
Gigantic guardian watching o’er the welfare of the land
Their feet dug deep into the earth their heads are in the sky.
These strongholds to which Freedom fled when despots bade her die
Our sad eyed sons and daughters as their ships speed o’er the foam
Gaze back across the waters to the mountain tops of home
These mountain heathery bonnets wave a sweet and sad adieu
To every lonely wanderer as Erin sinks from view
The exiled Gaels of Ireland in their wandrings o’er the world
Oft dream of Irish cannabhans and heather flags unfurled
And if they ere return again their gladdest glimpse shall be
The mountain tops of Ireland arising up above the sea
The mountains of old Ireland are monuments sublime
That hold the records of a sad and of a glorious time
Alters of faith and freedom by saints and sages trod
And blest by blood of martyrs for Ireland and for God.

MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass,
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.