Ode to Glassdrumman Cottage

I'm not usually much of a betting man, but I'm pretty sure that I would keep my shirt on if I bet you that Glassdrumman Cottage is the only self catering cottage in Ireland to have a poem written about it! Any takers? And what would be the odds if I bet you that the poem was written in Latin? Now you're talking!

Well I'm pleased to say that Glassdrumman Cottage could win the bet hands down! Over the years a number of guests have been so impressed with the cottage and the hospitality they received, that they had to wax lyrical. Maybe it was the Irish literary tradition that started to seep into their consciousness, as they peered out the cottage windows on a rainy day or sat in front of the wood burning stove or strolled through the wooded nature trail. Or maybe it was the effect of sipping Glassdrumman Cider that brought out their inner need to write. Whatever the inspiration, a few guests have written in poetic terms about their time spent at Glassdrumman Cottage. So if you're a budding writer or a potential poet, why not spend some time at Glassdrumman and see if you are inspired to put pen to paper and write your “magnum opus” .

The Fire At Glassdrumman Cottage.

Entranced by such
a fitting sight
a fire lit
to my delight

Where jumping jacks
of flames ignite
and fans out heat
into the night

And as I contemplate
my day
tempus fugit
and runs away
and my thoughts dwell
on having lunch
at the Tuesday Bell.

A beard of ash
burns hot and red
and wills me stay
long out of bed.

If true love is
the love of food
then that is all
to the good.

But I aspire
to nothing better
than the quaint love of
a rip roaring fire.

Christine Mills, 2010.

Venimos, Vidimus, Victi Sumus.
We came, we saw, and we were 'bate.
(Canadian Lament)

Full deep along the drumlins sleeps the snow,
Glassdrumman basks in silence on their lea,
Nor thinks to be disturbed.
Lo! Winter-canny Canucks breeze along
Some cosy cottage living to enjoy
Nor think to be repelled.
But drumlin steep and icy snow combine
To mire them at the bottom of the lane
In baffled fury to complain:
“Five wimpy inches of the white have proved
Enough to humble all our vaunted winter lore
And all our winter savvy to confound”.

To William in our quandary we repair:
“We cannot rise, nor can we yet return
To tilt against that wretched slope again”.
William, no whit daunted by our plight,
On crimson, four-wheeled charger does respond,
Of hope a beacon in the snowy night.
One tug suffices all our static plight to solve -
No smirk of condescension mars his brow -
He sets us back on track with words to soothe:
“You're alright now!”.

As for us - we'll never live it down -
Our blushes will betray our heart felt shame.
If William had not answered to our call
We'd still be spinning in that - lovely lane!

Terry Robinson, 2010.

We came here to stay.

We came here to stay,
Now we're going away.
We've had a great time in this house.
It's been very nice,
At a reasonable price.
We haven't one reason to moan.
The beds were so cosy,
The couches 'reposey',
The countryside stunning to view.
So thanks to Glassdrumman,
I'm sure we'll be coming,
To see you again very soon.

Al and Emma Somerville, 2006.

Ode to Glassdrumman Cottage

Situs in monticulo
(Site upon a drumlin)
Callide delectus,
(Shrewedly chosen,)
Omnibus rivulibus
(By all rivals)
Invide conspectus.
(Looked upon with envy.)
Omnibus fautonibus
(By all supporters)
Solitus amari,
(Accustomed to be adored.)
Prohibet hospitii
(Of hospitality it prevents)
Cumen occultari.
(The beacon to be snuffed out.)