When I was just a wee bit lad
I went fishing in the Maine,
My mother used to say to me
Don’t you go back again,
But now my race is nearly run
And I’m a homesick swain,
I’d like to go back to Cullybackey
And dwell beside the Maine.

I’ve seen the moonlight on the Pyrenees,
I have seen it shine on Spain,
I have seen it glow o’er old Bordeaux
And tarry by the Seine,
I’ve seen it gleam on lake and stream
And go dancing down the glen,
But the sweetest song on a moonlight night
Is moonlight on the Maine.

The blue hills of Antrim
Are calling me away
From London’s din and London’s kin,
To where the folks are free and gay,
Night and day I hope and pray
That I’ll return again,
To love and sigh – live and die
In Cullybackey on the Maine.

H.H. McFall, Richmond-on-Thames August 1947

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