_His Praise of the Little Hill and the Plains of Mayo_


After the Christmas, with the help of Christ, I will never stop if
I am alive; I will go to the sharp-edged little hill; for it is a fine
place without fog falling; a blessed place that the sun shines on,
and the wind doesn't rise there or anything of the sort.

And if you were a year there you would get no rest, only sitting up
at night and forever drinking. The lamb and the sheep are there; the
cow and the calf are there, fine lands are there without heath and
without bog. Ploughing & seed-sowing in the right month, plough and
harrow prepared and ready; the rent that is called for there, they
have means to pay it. There is oats and flax & large eared barley.
There are beautiful valleys with good growth in them and hay. Rods
grow there, and bushes and tufts, white fields are there and respect
for trees; shade and shelter from wind and rain; priests and friars
reading their book; spending and getting is there, and nothing scarce.

I leave it in my will that my heart rises as the wind rises, and as
the fog scatters, when I think upon Carra and the two towns below it,
on the two-mile bush and on the plains of Mayo. And if I were standing
in the middle of my people, age would go from me and I would be young
again.