Well North Of This Country

Well north of this Country from here far away
I would feel a stranger in Duhallow today
Few there would know of me and few there I would know
Where Finnow to Blackwater through the rushy fields flow.

The memories are all I have left to enjoy
Of Cullen and the old fields of Lisnaboy
But for as long as the gift of memory I retain
The beauty I once knew with me will remain.

The mentors of my young years amongst the dead lay
And the passage of time has left me looking gray
Yet in fancy I hear the frog croak in the drain
And the male robin sing in the wind and the rain.


Far north of this Country in the prime of the Spring
In the leafy groves and on the hedgerows the nesting birds sing
And the lush fields their wildflowers of Nature display
And the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May.