O'Er The Fields Of Claraghatlea North Poem by Francis Duggan

O'er the fields of Claraghatlea North the sun peeps through gray clouds in the sky
And the swallows o'er the old fields are chirping as they fly
And though yesterday was showery today is warm and dry
And the newly mown meadows scenting sweetly of Nature's perfumes of July.

O'er a rushy field in Claraghatlea North a lark is carolling just a small speck in the Summer sky
He grows tinier and disappears from sight as upwards he does fly
He carols amongst the woolly looking clouds that ever drifts on by
A songster of Earth's canopy and on the Earth he'll die.

In the fields of Claraghatlea North when I was a young boy
On Summer evenings the voice of the corncrake a thing of Natural joy
But the earlier cutting of the meadow grass their nests and eggs destroyed
And in the fields by my old home their songs forever died.

To the fields of Claraghatlea North the Seasons come and go
And the stream down to the river ever babbles as it flow
And though many I knew in Childhood years with the deceased now lay
In the fields of Claraghatlea North their spirits live today