When the golden sun is setting,
Setting softly in the west,
And the shadows on Thames’ valley
Are in lovely colours dressed;
It is then my thoughts go drifting
On the breezy springtime air,
Drifting on the scented breezes,
To a glen in Antrim fair.

And my memory gently lingers
Round a cabin in the hills;
And I hear the blackbird singing,
And the music on the rills.
Oh! I see the blue bells dancing,
And the woods flaming gold,
In thought I’m roaming through them
As I did in days of old.

But, oh, I’m growing old now,
My time it won’t be long;
And as I sit in silent thought,
I hear the night-birds song.
Oh! You who dwell in Antrim fair,
And watch the sinking sun,
You are very near to heaven
Your view’s a lovely one.

But I am far, so far away,
Beyond the Irish skies;
Far from the land that gave me birth,
A weary way it lies.
Up the Thames a ship is stealing,
As back my memory flings;
Oh, you are very far away
The whistling night-bird sings.

And as I watch the fading west,
I think of joys gone by,
As shyly round me night-birds call,
And the trees so gently sigh.
For life is short for me, I know,
I’ll leave this weary strand,
And dream of boyhood days I spent
In dear old Ireland.

H.H. McFall, Richmond-on-Thames 22nd March 1929

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