Hugh Fulton, once my comrade dear,
Pursuing fortune, left his home,
And through the lone sequestered plains
Of Nova Scotia now does roam.
He left his houses and fair lands
That lovely dwelling for to view;
The place that gave our hero birth
Was the wholesome braes of Mullaghdoo.
It grieves my heart, since we did part
To view those planted groves and shades,
The covert of the feathered tribe
Where oft he courted blooming maids,
The goldspring, nightingale and thrush
Thnt oftimes charmed our noble Hugh
Have dropped their wings with silent tongues
And say, "We'll go frae Mullaghdoo."
The generous lily, pink and rose
There oft with beauty smiled arrayed,
But now we see they are declined
Since away from them our hero strayed.
Their naked stem and leafless bower
No more require the morning dew,
Their summer robes they'll ne'er put on
Since Hugh's away from Mullaghdoo.
Thou silent moon and glittering orbs
That oftimes drew his image tall,
How can you light those immortal hills
Or cast a shadow on the wall?
How can ye peep out of the deep,
O'er lofty hills and mountains blue,
And o'er this place eclipse your face,
The midnight mourner, Mullaghdoo?
The night he took his last farewell
Of Chatham boys, his favoured few - Our
master's name was Dan McKay - He
says, "A charge I leave wi'you:
Now, brave McKay, as you pass by
Wi' fifes and drums and colours blue,
The more my face you ne'er shall see;
Play 'Auld Lang Syne' for Mullaghdoo."
from Songs of the People, Henry