Oil Lamps and Whitewashed Walls…

Full many a year has vanished

Through time’s magic looking glass,

Since first I saw that cottage,

Now set in memories past.

.

It nestled ‘neath a hillside

Decked out in heather fair,

With it’s roof of weathered rushes

Held down with súgáns rare.

.

But all that was as nothing,

Though beautiful to behold,

Compared with all the brightness

In it’s whitewashed walls so bold.

.

And when fair evening’s mantle

Soaked the brightness from our day,

Its oil-lamp spread it’s yellow light,

With gold in every ray.

.

As then our cottage oil lamp

Threw its gold rays far and wide,

To guide us home at long day’s end

To our home on Drum’s hillside.

.

.

And the golden yellow brightness

From our oil lamp in full flight,

Guided home our wandering footsteps,

Through the darkness of the night.

.

Though now those days are long past,

And the ’lectric shines at will,

I still can see, in my mind’s clear eye,

That cottage ‘neath the hill.

.

And so I really miss it,

When back through the years I go,

That lovely limewashed cottage,

With its oil lamp all aglow.