Denis J Foley Poems

In Memory of Mrs Kate Clarson London (nee Finn)

Keenly we mourn in anguish below
A dear one who's left us in sorrow and woe
To enjoy evermore mid His chosen and Blest
Ethereal bliss in the Haven of Rest
Crushed and bleeding the hearts of fond ones left behind
Languishing ever, sad and weary of mind
A mother's fond affection they miss each fleeting hour
Regret deep and unfathomable shall fill their bosoms sore
Since she is with the Elect upon God's right hand side
(Oh, she did ever during life by each command abide )
Now intercede dear cousin that we there too may one day bide.
Denis J .Foley, Glounecommane.

Lines in Memory of P.J. Rahilly

DROMTARIFFE. ( Poet and patriot )

No more he'll sing in verse sublime,
By the lordly Avondhu;
Of scenes he loved and laboured 'mong,
'Neath Bogera's mountain blue.
In Dromtariffe's mound-that storied ground-
He now takes his silent rest,
His noble spirit; valiant, true,
Is numbered with the Blest.

Yea! in manhood's bloom the call did come,
That poor mortal has to pay;
Alas! he's gone from the land he lov'd,
'Ere dawned sweet Freedom's day.
With his boyhood's dreams unrealised,
He sank beneath the sod,
Of "Dark Rosaleen" his pride and joy,
That his footsteps oftimes trod.

To "Faith and Fatherland" loyal to the core,
His country's cause to him a sacred trust;
His aim; that she might live the ages thro'
When tyrants long had crumbled unto dust.
A scholar rare and sage profound,
A patriot free from taunt or stain;
Thro' famed Duhallow's verdant vales,
His cherished memory long will remain.

Denis J. Foley,

By Alloa's Tide

 (Published OId Moore 1926)

I love to stray by Alloa's tide,
Where warblers sweetly sing;
On bush and brake, in summer gay,
Or in the blooming spring.
There, to view the pomp of nature,
And hills midst heather brown;
So pleasing in each feature,
Round sweet old Freemount Town

The meadows and the smiling glades,
Down by the Allow stream;
Are rich and fair, beyond compare ,
When robed in emerald sheen;
Each nook and dell I love so well,
Where blooming flowerets grow,
In each fertile vale where beauty lies,
Where Alloa's waters flow.

They speak of Nature's beauteous scenes,
In far and distant clime,
They could not woo my heart from these,
That round about are lying.
Each curving bank and placid pool,
Fringed round with foliage green;
Ah! none may seem as fair as these,
The old lov'd familiar scenes.

Above each fresh and fragrant vale,
That lies the stream beside;
Stand noble, lofty, towering hills,
Gorse-clad along each side.
Neath the pleasant rays of the summer sun,
In golden garb they gleam;
Their brilliancy reflected
In the limpid, rippling stream.

In grand array doth then appear,
Old Kiltane Hill so steep;
In golden sheen bedecked it stands,
'Bove Poul Lockins waters deep.
From its craggy summit towering up,
May be had a splendid view;
Of Duhallow's plains and verdant knolls,
Towards Boghra's mountains blue.

Beyond, the massive walls of Alloa Bridge,
Stand defiantly and grey;
Tho' nigh a century's past and o'er,
Since were raised its wide archways.
Like a trusty sentinel it has watched,
The waters hurrying roll;
To the bosom of its mother-the sea,
Who claims unceasing toll.

Still Not in Despair

Now January has come and gone and despite my fitful rymeing,
Dear Ed. No cheque have I yet won, still my hopes are not declining.
But I am sure I get my due and myself it not surprises-
That I am sadly "out of view" when you allot the prizes.

I find Buckley Ned includes my name 'mong North Cork's poets and sages
Ah me! How I hang my head with shame when I read o'er the "humour"pages.
For I have but myself to blame (but why does he not ignore me?.)
As once I "trifled" with his name, and the fact oft looms before me'

Your quill now stay, oh, worthy bard, and never again so transgresseth,
As to mention me in this regard, and pray do forgive my trespasses,
I'm proud to see you hold in "Humour" a place, and so may long this be,
May happiness ever your pathway trace by your well-lov'd Knocknagree .

And despite what Smithwick lately wrote, in bright and breezy,jest
There is no fear your heart is smote, 'twill long withstand such test.
My best regards to the "wits," one and all, and may none know melancholy;
So I sign myself, dear Ed., what'er befall, Yours hopefully, "Dinny"Foley. ..

Denis J Foley- Glounecommane" Freemount, Co. Cork... 


I think not of the beauties rare,
That other lands may claim;
I think not of the golden store,
Far o'er the raging main.
I but revere my Erin dear,
And the charming vales by the Allow,
Where I have spent sweet childhood's days,
In my own lov'd Duhallow.

O'er this barony wide are scenes so rare,
Unsurpass'd in the Emerald Isle;
Sweet verdant vales and gaunt mountains Steep,
On which Nature beams ever the while.
The picturesque bosom of fair fertile lea,
Stretches onward from Meelin to Mallow,
Well watered by rivulets sparkling and gay ;
What charms are thine sweet Duhallow.

And rich wooded vales where the warblers 'bide,
Re-echoing the glens with tune;
With dense foilage dress'd, they meet the admiring eye,
'Neath their shades wild flowers gaily bloom.
In summer, when Nature's best charms portray'd,
By the slopes ofthe Alloa and the Dallua;
Its then I am mindful of thy true loveliness
My heart's pride, historic, Duhallow

Bloom on fertile vales, may your beauty ne'er fade,
'Till Liberty's light thee adorn;
When thou'll dazzle anew like a rich diadem,
In the radiance of freedom's bright morn.
For ever I'll love thee 'mid life's changing scenes,
And when death's course I shall follow;
I would wish to be laid 'neath the elm tree's shade,
With my Kindred in storied Duhallow.

There to take my last sleep in the land of my birth,
Its hallowed earth over my breast,
The green sod of Erin my coverlet sweet-
My soul in the Heaven of Rest!
Yet my last earthly thought ere this world I flee,
And be free from its cares and its sorrow;
Is to breathe one last prayer, for my dear country,
And my own lov'd native Duhallow....

Denis J. Foley,
27----3----1921 ( Easter Sunday )

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