Invocation to "Bundoran"

​

Can you imagine if the music and lyrics of Bundoran's most famous song "Beautiful Bundoran" was lost to time?

​

"Beautiful Bundoran" is known locally, nationally and internationally—its melody echoes from the Clancy's, Travers's and McMahon's in East End along past Daly's, Doherty's and Fitzgerald's on Main Street to the Carty's, Duffy's and McKiernan's in West End—its harmony unites southern and northern lands—and its rhythm resonates throughout the Irish diasporic world.

 

This singular song evokes the beautiful scenery of the seaside town through its beguiling "silvery sea" and "golden strand". 

​​

​​​What would Bundoran's ballad-song be—if nobody remembered the orchestral diapason of its swelling rhythm, harmony and melody? 

 

What would the loss of this song mean for Bundoran's identity?

​

Losing songs, stories and poetry that hold ancestral memory, ancient history and cultural identity—unfortunately happens in history.

 

This poem of Bundoran is an example of that tragedy. It has been lost to time for many years—but now as Bundoran's singular song "Beautiful Bundoran" thrives, and is alive and well—now this singular poem "Bundoran" survives with renewed life.

​

​​If nothing else was discovered from this lost guide-book but this unique, lyrical poem of "Bundoran"—it would have been a worthy find. However, to hold a guide-book that has the Bundoran name proudly printed on it and with chapters related to Bundoran and its neighbourhood—it is a remarkable literary discovery for the travel and tourist history of the North West.

​

"Bundoran" was written by the Very Rev. Dr. Patrick Murray, the renowned Clones-born writer and professor of theology. He composed the poem sometime before his passing in 1882.

 

Rev. Murray is a seminal figure in Bundoran history. His sermon served as the transition from the old church at the bridge to Fr. Kelaghan's visionary Church of Our Lady Star of the Sea. As Bundoran native and Donegal historian Fr. Gallagher stated:

 

"The last function of note that we hear of in the old chapel was a charity sermon, delivered" by Murray.

 

Bundoran natives had already been forced out of the older church in Finner during plantation times and sadly the native faithful were forced out again of their church at the bridge by landlordism.

 

The astute Fr. Kelaghan knew that Rev. Murray's sermon would be a touchstone for uniting the community during this conflicted period of ecclesiastical change.

​

​In essence, Murray's poem is one of the most significant finds from Connolly's guide-book. Fr. Gallagher stated that it is from Murray "whose pen we have the first modern poem of his beloved Bundoran".

​​

​​​​​​​​Murray’s poem in Chapter I. of Connolly's book appears to be an invocation to Bundoran’s landscape—a poetic prayer invoking the power to spiritually heal through nature’s divine guidance.

​

To provide some further background about Murray's profound bond with Bundoran, Connolly in the guide-book expresses that:

 

“The lovers of Bundoran, and their name is legion, are not slow to praise the health-giving resort that one time or another has given them renewed life and energy. One such, whose admiration was bestowed on Bundoran in no stinted measure was the late Very Rev. Dr. Murray, of Maynooth College. The muscular form and frank meditative aspect of “Father Murray” were well known in Bundoran where he generally spent the greater part of his annual holiday. He is probably better known to many as the author of the beautiful poem, “Glandore.” Once, after a more than usual arduous application to study, he came to Bundoran in what his friends feared would provide shattered health. But here his strength rapidly returned; as he himself says in the poem, written on his recovery, “a breeze of life came over the sea” to him”.

 

If the reader reads Murray’s words carefully and follows the imagery closely—they can imagine the exact places where he stood and walked while he wrote this poem in Bundoran.

 

For myself, as I stand and walk on this Gulf Coast strand, 6,000km away from home—I reflect on these gulf stream waters that create a transatlantic bridge to Bundoran’s coastline.

 

I suppose it is only natural to express that it must have been like “a breeze of life came o’er the sea” for me to find this book and share its history with the people as a native son.

​

This poem is not about me finding it—it is about universally sharing it—so it can be read, heard, and felt in our hearts and souls once again—for there is poetic justice in imaginative destiny.

 

For the first time since 1895—one hundred and twenty nine years ago—here are the evocative words of Murray’s poem—this Rougey rhyme—aptly named and spiritually invoking “Bundoran”.

​​​

I dedicate finding this poem and song in memory of the recently passed lecturer, musician and historian, Marc Geagan and to his beloved family.

 

May Marc's spirit shine through this powerful book, poem and song—eternally Dancing by the Sea

​​​​​​​​​​ ​​​​

​

BUNDORAN

​

 

But yesterday before mine eyes–

The winding shore, the sounding sea,

Fair as the moonlight starry skies,

Sublime as their immensity.

​

A dream, a grateful day-dream, brings

Back all I felt, and saw, and heard–

The wild sea’s distant murmurings,

The wild notes of the ocean bird.

​

Again the breezy cliffs I tread,

Again I tread thy velvet shore,

The blue sky arching over-head,

The great Atlantic spread before.

​

Again I see the crystal ridges,

Foam-crested, rolling high and grand,

Again I tread the Fairy Bridges

And wander over Tullan Strand.

​

I see the mighty tidal waves,

What time the furious equinox,

Went roaring down the ocean eaves,

Went sweeping o’er the ocean rocks.

​

When wearied, sick, from toiling years,

With heart forlorn I saw thee first,

Can I through all the coming years

Forget the hope that on me burst?

​

A breeze of life came o’er the sea,

As though the west wind bathed his plumes

In some blest Island, where the tree

Of Paradise still lives and blooms.

​

Death’s vapours fled before its breath

Sweet singing from that isle of balm;

The cold harsh warning note of death

Was hushed in its angelic psalm.

​

Bundoran now is far away–

Its breeze, and cliff, and sea, and strand:

I think of them the live-long day,

As wanderer of his native land.​​​​

​​​​​​​​​