Back There By Clara Mountain

Back there by Clara mountain the birds sing all the day
And the hawthorn trees look lovely in their white flowers of the May
And the old stream down the high field it babbles as it flow
On it's journey to the river by many a hedgerow.

Back there by Clara Mountain now the old fields look lush and green
And along the ditch on either side of the old stone bohreen
The bluebells and the snowdrops and wild primroses are in bloom
And the mountain air is sweet scenting of Nature's own perfume.

Back there by Clara Mountain at this time of the year
The voice of the migrant cuckoo in the wood the farmer hear
And in the stream the dipper pipes his familiar song
You hear him once and next time you will not get him wrong.

Back there by Clara Mountain at the tail end of the Spring
Male chaffinch with the pinkish breast on a silver birch tree sing
And sparrows under the house eaves chirp as they weave their nests of hay
In that old Townland north of here thousands of miles away.

Back there by Clara Mountain in the ever changing sky
The dark winged barn swallows are chirping as they fly
And the little lark is carolling above the mountain brow
In the place where I was born in and raised in old Duhallow now.