On the late September’s days I saw a glorious sight,
One hundred swallows in a migratory flight.
They were flying gaily past groves of alder green,
Which deck Moyola’s verdant banks in lovely Ballinascreen.
The fitful sunlight played upon their swiftly moving wings,
And sweet and clear the twitter rang as from silver strings.
Some skilled musician drew the notes which sounded through the vale,
As swiftly onward sped the birds before a Western gale.
Thoughtfully I watched them ’till they vanished from the scene,
For the summer seemed departing from the lovely glens of ‘Screen.
And the Autumn tints were deeper on the woods and mountains brown,
The grass had lost its verdure in the fields by Draperstown.
The “Felts” were at the rowans, and the nuts, no longer green,
Brought thoughts of gathered harvests and the time of Hallowe’en.
I fancied cold Winter’s blasts were blowing on my cheecks,
And thought of snowcaps later on the Sperrin Mountain peeks.
I wished the birds “bon voyage” to a warmer, sunnier clime,
A sure and safe return for another summer time;
When the Shamrocks will be springing, grass growing green,
And flowers sweetly blooming in the lovely glens of ‘Screen.
Ballinascreen.
George Barnett 