Hills of Leitrim

Lyrics

My attic room is cold and grey above the narrow street
And up the winding stair there comes no sound of friendly feet
I’m dreaming of old voices and I think I smell the peat
In a house among the little hills of Leitrim

‘Tis many a weary year since last I saw my country’s skies
And heard across the waste of bog, the mournful plovers cries
But there beneath the kindly sod, my heart deep-buried lies
In a grave among the little hills of Leitrim

Acushla but you were a queen of beauty, sweet and rare
And I, the proudest boy of all beside you at the fair
I close my eyes and see you coming down the pass-way there
From the farm among the little hills of Leitrim

I mind the summer evenings when the scythe was put away
And all the boys and girls came in from saving of the hay
And dancing in the road itself to tunes blind Mike would play
And the moonlight shining on the hills of Leitrim

I’m toiling in the strangers’ land with ne’er a friendly face
A stranger too, they look on me, a man of foreign race
But though my body’s toiling, faith, my heart’s not in the place
‘tis back among the little hills of Leitrim

My attic room is cold and grey above the narrow street
And up the winding stair there comes no sound of friendly feet
I’m dreaming of old voices and I think I smell the peat
In a house among the little hills of Leitrim


Notes

A plover is a wading bird: a shorebird that has a short beak and tail and long pointed wings.
Family: Charadriidae



County

Leitrim

Song Themes

Emigration

Songwriter