Moonlit Bealac Hill

I fancy i can hear again the babble of the rill
And the wild cry of the red fox on moonlit Bealac Hill
At night upon the high ground where the het and bracken grow
A landscape that never seems to change though the Seasons come and go.

To the ancient Boggeragh Ranges near where i lived in years long gone
And though people like the Seasons come and go life as usual goes on
In fancy i hear the blackbird with the musical yellow bill
In Spring as the moon begins to rise above old Bealac Hill.

I often think of places far north of this Southern Shore
The ancient Boggeragh Mountains between Millstreet and Rathmore
And the harsh scream of the barn owl where the winds of night blow chill
Above the moonlit high road of lonely Bealac Hill.

The high road up to Bealac i may never climb again
And hear the old rill babble in the wind and in the rain
As it flows to meet the river with a tongue that's never still
Down through the gorse and bracken of moonlit Bealac Hill.