From South Barool


South Barool !  Aw, the sight from the top o’er the lan’,

I’m thinkin’ is turrble an’ wunnerful gran’ ;

For the eye travels down lek the flight of a swolla

On all the green fiel’s on the flat, in the holla.


An’ nawthin’ to stop it excep’ the blue say

Lyin’ smilin’ from Langness to Carrickey Bay.

Aw, how jesh all the fiel’s is, jus’ lek a big quelt

Made of patchwork, an’ lookin’ as sorf  theer as felt.


With the gool’ of the corn an’ the green of the grass,

An’ the blue of the say lek the eyes of a lass,

An’ the dark olive green of the clusthas of trees,

An’ the li’l purple shaddas of clouds on the breeze.


Passin’ over the lan’ in a hurry an’ skurry

To slide up the hill by the top of Mount Murray;

An’ the li’l white shapes of the slumberin’ crof’s,

An’ the lichen-grey roofs of the barns an’ the crof’s


Aw, theer’s many a counthry wheer I’ve nava been,

An’ many’s the sight, too, tha’ I’ve nava seen;

Things I h’ard of when I was a stuuggha at school;

But theer’s nawthin’ to battha the sight of Barool !


Mona’s Herald     29.1.63