I Left Duhallow, but Duhallow Followed

I left Duhallow but Duhallow followed
And the Boggeragh hills are never far away
In Finnow pools the trout for flies are jumping
And I see the cross on Clara every day.

The stream from the mountain lake of Gortavehy
Down through the bracken splashes on it’s way
Joined by small rills it swells into a river
Before it reach the flat fields of Liscreagh.

Of the fields of Claraghatlea North where I came from
I once said were a memory in decay
But of them I’ve found a new mental picture
Resplendent in their wildflowers of the May.

I left Duhallow but Duhallow followed
And the green fields and the woodlands I still see
I drive up the high hill through Cullen village
And take the road that leads to Knocknagree.

I have brought the fields of Ballydaly with me
And I have never seen them as green as this before
And cock robin his sweetest tune is piping
In the high mountain wood of Claramore.

I left Duhallow but Duhallow followed
And I see the fields of Millstreet every day
The gray fog cloaks the bracken slopes of Mushera
And the Boggeragh hill are never far away.

Francis Duggan