Summary

Songs of the Glens of Antrim

Och anee! wi' ne'er a voice to cry,
Like the weary cloud or drownin' moon
So it sank, or so was carried by:
Never told is all forgot so soon.
"CUTTIN' RUSHES."
Oh maybe it was yesterday, or fifty years ago!
Meself was risin' early on a day for cuttin' rushes.
Walkin' up the Brabla' burn, still the sun was low.
Now I'd hear the burn run an' then I'd hear the thrushes.
Young, still young!—an' drenchin' wet the grass,
Wet the golden honeysuckle hangin' sweetly down;
Here, lad, here! will ye follow where I pass,
An' find me cuttin' rushes on the mountain.
Source: Gutenberg

Songs of the Glens of Antrim

An' I wisht I was in Ireland the livelong day;
Weary on the English hay, an' sorra take the wheat!
Och! Corrymeela an' the blue sky over it.
There' a deep dumb river flowin' by beyont the heavy trees,
This livin' air is moithered wi' the bummin' o' the bees;
I wisht I'd hear the Claddagh burn go runnin' through the heat
Past Corrymeela, wi' the blue sky over it.
The people that's in England is richer nor the Jews,
There' not the smallest young gossoon but thravels in his shoes!
I'd give the pipe between me teeth to see a barefut child,
Och! Corrymeela an' the low south wind.
Source: Gutenberg

Songs of the Glens of Antrim

Night an' day where the waves are green.
Struth na Moile, the wind goes sighin'
Over a waste o' wathers green.
Slemish an' Trostan, dark wi' heather,
High are the Rockies, airy-blue;
Sure ye have snows in the winter weather,
Here they're lyin' the long year through.
Snows are fair in the summer weather,
Och, an' the shadows between are blue!
Source: Gutenberg

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