Folklore

The Old School House

The winding road runs down the braes, by fields and hedgerows green,

And down the glen, through winding ways, the river flows serene,

A hundred paces from the bridge where the river strand expands

Beside yon shady hawthorn hedge, the quaint old schoolhouse stands.

I still remember well the day I entered first its door.

The master, with a stick to play, paced up and down the floor;

I did not blame him much, indeed; he'd many truant boy

For though some came to learn and read, some came but to annoy

Spring there adorns each hawthorn spray, with blossoms beautiful

An merry children romp and play around that dear old school;

And groups of youngsters trip each morn to school adown the braes

By hedgerows green and fields of corn - just as in old school days

The river still down Glassalts Glen flows calm as then it flowed;

The school house stands the same as then, beside the winding road.

And where have all my school mates gone? Some sleep in beds of clay,

While others, in distant lands alone, like me, are far away.

Patrick Doherty, Craignahorna

"Dear Old Inishowen"

One evening as I wandered forth

From daily labours free;

To take an observation from

the hill of Glenmakee;

Bright sol was sinking in the west,

His last expiring rays

Illum'd the sparkling dewdrops on Craignahorns's braes

2

Slieve Sneacht, the mighty monarch

That wears the royal crown,

Is first to catch your wandering gaze,

He looks in splendour down

Upon the little zone of hills tha guard their Royal sire,

Like glittering gems on fire.

3

Next Barnan of the rugged peak:

Ah, how my heart does sigh;

The last green hill of Inishowen

To catch the exile's eye,

As round the cliffs of Binion

He skims the briny spray,

To seek his home in an alien clime

Three thousand miles away

4

Among the brown dishevelled heath

That shields the Norway drake;

Lies that placid shield of water

That's called Meendoran Lake;

Like mirror bright reflecting back

Those granite peaks so high,

That guard the wild birds of the storm

And echo back their cry.

5

Beyond the path of the setting sun,

'Neath occidental skies;

On the verge of the ocean, bleak and wild,

Proud Buliba does rise -

Like a sable cloud when hovering round

Fair Luna, the queen of night,

He wraps his brows in a misty shroud,

And vanishes from my sight.

6

Where roaring billows rage and foam, And sweep the land in spray;

Glasheedy rears his rugged head,

And smiles on Pollin Bay:

Behind does an ancient castle stand,

Erected by one Mc. Fall:

All now that remains is the crumbling tower

Of that once majestic hall.

7

Beyond lie the wild indented cliffs

Of far famed Malin Head,

Where oft king Niall of the emerald heights

His fiery legions led,

It's spectre shade o'er the deep blue waves

A stately tower does fling,

A gnomon raised mid the bright green hills

Where Niall once was king.

8

Beneathe you a sheet of water

Pours in through the surging foam

Of a curious legend told

By the old folks here at home

How the ancient castle of Niall

Was submerged in the briny deep

By the great Mc. Lir, that's near Shroove Head

In the roaring "Tonn's" does sleep.

9

On the northern shore of Trawbegae's lake,

Where the lashing waves do frown,

Stands the beautiful hamlet

Well known to Malin Town;

To the east is that ever memorable spot

The emerald clad Grenn Hill,

That smilesm like a queen in robes of green,

On the lands of Drumaville.

10

Let me shift your gaze to the eastern face

Of Crucknaacoilledare

Where the moorcocks sing so sweetly

In the balmy morning air

In the vale below a lake does flow

In the midst of a verdant lawn

In the centre does smile a little isle

The resort of the snow white swan

11

Those towering oaks whose lordly arms

Rise upwards to the sky;

Invite the feathered tribes of earth

To build their nests on high,

The splendid snow white mansion

That stands beneath the trees

Is the seat of Samuel Rankin

One of our great J.P.s

12

South east upon an emerald ridge,

Stands Mt. St. Mary's Hall,

Erected through Reverend Father Paul;

Inspired with heavenly wisdom

He this great work begun,

I trust in God 'twill flourish

Before his sands are run.

13

But now my theme is ended,

I hear the billows foam;

That soon shall bear me far away

From Erin's lpvely home;

And when those lordly emerald peaks

Shall sink beneath my view,

I'll climb the quivering mast on high,

To wave one fond adieu.

14

Farewell you heath clad mountains

Of dear old Inishowen;

Farewell you bright green valleys,

I now must from you roam;

A long farewell, my comrades, boys

I hope you'll pray for me pray

To reach that free born country

Three thousand miles away.

By Alexander Reid

Principal of Glassalts N.S. 1868-1872