Wednesday, 22 August 2007

Turfahun poem

The bards may sing a sweeter lay
In praise of beauty's grace
And swell the part that wealth may play
For maids of plainer face
But if to me you'll lend an ear
Before my song is done
It's of a country lass you'll hear
That dwelt in Turfahun
'Twas in a Ballycastle fair
About the Lammas time
When farming folk throw aff a' care
And hairst is in its prime
Amang the lave may heart as yet
Was only bent on fun
But Cupid smote me when I met
The lass o' Turfahun
For rosy, healthful womankind
And native wit that's quick
In Ballycastle fair you'll find
Of all the world the pick
'Twas there, in crowd from every airt
My eye got fixed on one
Dismounting from a farmer's cart
That came frae Turfahun
With youthful zeal, though blate an' shy
I helped her to alight
She thanked me, and her glancing eye
Betokened all was right
My glance met hers, the vision passed
But round my heart was spun
A web of love that bound me fast
To her of Turfahun
I sought her, later, in the dance
She yielded me her hand
And in the mazes of a trance
We entered Fairyland
I scarcely knew I touched the floor
When once the jig began
But seemed on music's wings to soar
With her of Turfahun
The dance when done, we both sat down
I begged her name and place
And praised the fashion of her gown
The fairness of her face
She gave her sunny curls a toss
(A cloud o'erswept my sun)
"My name," said she, "is Mrs. Ross
I live in Turfahun!"
To meet was sweet, but sad to part
'Twas years ago and yet
The memory of a lost sweetheart
Is hardest to forget
And though I'm growing gray of hair
Long as life's sands may run
I'll mind that Ballycastle fair
And her of Turfahun

John Troland
Norwich, Conn., U.S.A.

[published in the Northern Constitution on December 31st, 1910]

Wild Posies collection 1915