The Trees at Kilmaboo

On yon green hill i fix my gaze
As Sol gives forth its pleasant ray's
And the land revives "neath the breath of Spring
And birds their mating songs doth shyly sing
Silent nature has worked once again
And a clarion call sends forth to men
All, all seems glad, but my heart's not so
For the trees are missing from Kilmabo.

Yes I seem deiected as I greet the Spring
And will feel no better at the blossoming
With leaf and bud will all seem gay
In our verdant Isle as comes the May
On each copse and fen in rarest sheen
Will the daisies bloom and the shamrock be seen
Yea, my soul is drooping in sense of woe
The trees are missing from Kilmabo.

Then tints of autumn again are here
And the leaves are fading, golden sere
As to you loved mound will my fond gaze turn
The sight beholden gives cause to mourne
The noble birch and the proud sycamore
That here tossed their heads are now no more
Aye the dead that lie in their grave below
Doth lament the trees in lone Kilmabo

Here long had waved those noble trees
And their trusses flaunted with every breeze
And seemed to chant a solemn requiem
For the souls of those who neath their sha-des had lain
In solitude and silence profound
Awaiting Michael's great trumpet sound
Ah, my inmost soul doth murmur low
Oh the trees, the trees, in Kilmabo'

The "strangers cold" in yon don't understand
And in accents bland mayhap might ask
Why in distressful mood give vent
And why all this show of sentiment
But from the depth's of my saddened soul
The answer echoes like thunder roll
When death shall strike me its fatal'blow
I had wished to slumber 'neath the trees of old Kilmabo' " '

Denis.J Foley,