There is a mountain in the north of Eirinn
A giant garmented in mantle brown,
Ah! I am longing to be thither fairing,
In May, with bogmen, up from farm and town.
I know the giant is waiting weary,
Waiting for us and for the Maytime dear –
Weary with listening through the winter dreary
To naught save curlews, and to storm winds drear.
I know the mountain will be glad to greet us
(With turf spades and turf barrows as we go)
With sweet embraces will the Bogwind meet us,
And heather flags to welcome us will blow.
Then in a land of freedom and of heather,
Of open spaces in a sunlit land.
We’ll cut the turf and spread them to the weather
And oft-times pause to hear the bog-lark bland.
There is a mountain in the north of Eirinn;
Though drear in winter, ‘twill be bright in May,
When we the bogmen, will be thither fairing –
Blithe as the bog – larks at the break of day.
Michael Mullin‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.