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'The
Mountain of Sliabh Beagh' By Peter Keenan
The curling smoke from a "fum turf" fire, it stains
the sky of blue,
Where a mountain man cuts one turf deep on the force of
Altnacanoo,
Over "Carraig Glass" the sweet skylark sings out a
merry song,
While Will-o-the wisp curls over the heath the dragon fly is
gone.
A harrier hovers over Keenan's hill while away across the bog,
The wild red grouse calls out "go back", over
Eshclougfin there's fog.
From"Loch an Taggart" go "Poll na Scal"
the golden plover flies,
Round "Loch na Herragh" the wild duck sweeps and the
small trout gently rise,
Over dark, Glenvan the curlews call, to the north a purple
haze,
Neat Johnny's well by the dark brown stream, the sheep and the
cattle graze,
Eishbrack serene, that holds the cross where the priest was
shot by yeos,
From Toneyday to Pepper's hollow, the cuckoo's voice echoes,
The diving snipe whose wings do neigh, that rain is near
fortells, While fast across the heather tops the darting swift
propels.
The wild hare hops across the moor, the beagle cries behind,
Eishmore looms high above it all, bedecked with spruce and
pine,
On a moss clad swamp behind the lake, a moorhen shy is wadin',
While a bumble bee drones through the air with heather honey
laden.
And "Carraig na Sladdery" guards Toal's Glen like a
giant pike of hay,
These sights I see, these sounds I hear on the Mountain of
Sliabh Beagh.
It's evening late and a gentle breeze across Lough Bhraden
blows,
While homeward bound to distant nests fly flocks of noisy
crows.
The cuckoo's song is silent now - the hen harrier has gone to
bed,
The grouse calls out a last "go back", the beagles
cry is dead.
As bats appear like ugly specks upon a golden sky.
A distant bank from a cranky dog, a woodcock whistles by,
And hare sneaks back to a quiet den, the curlew's call
subsides,
And all return to Mother earth, all to different hides,
I stand and gaze on this grand domain and awe and deep
concern,
The heather bell, bog cotton white, sundew and trembling fern,
The smallest midge, the red moneog, the hue across the land,
My thanks to him for a chance to see the splendour of his
hand,
These gems of nature, these simple things and I only hope and
pray,
That these sights and sounds man will preserve on the Mountain
of Sliabh Beagh.
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