And not a face in all the place but partly seems my

own;

There's not a house or window, there's not a field or

hill,

But, east or west, in foreign lands, I'll recollect them still.

I leave my warm heart with you, tho' my back I'm forced to turn

So adieu to Belashanny, and the winding banks of Erne !

II

No more on pleasant evenings we'll saunter down the

Mall,

When the trout is rising to the fly, the salmon to the

fall.

The boat comes straining on her net, and heavily she

creeps.

Cast off! cast off! she feels the oars, and to her berth

she sweeps;

Now fore and aft keep hauling, and gathering up the

clew,

Till a silver wave of salmon rolls in among the crew. Then they may sit, with pipes a-lit, and many a joke

and "yarn

Adieu to Belashanny, and the winding banks of Erne!

III

The music of the waterfall, the mirror of the tide, When all the green-hill'd harbour is full from side to side

From Portnasun to Bulliebawns, and round the Abbey

Bay,

From rocky Inis Saimer to Coolnargit sand-hills gray; While far upon the southern line, to guard it like a wall,

The Leitrim mountains clothed in blue, gaze calmly over all,

And watch the ship sail up or down, the red flag at her stern

Adieu to these, adieu to all the winding banks of Erne !

IV

Farewell to you, Kildoney lads, and them that pull an

oar,

A lug-sail set, or haul a net, from the Point to Mul

laghmore;

From Killybegs to bold Slieve-League, that oceanmountain steep,

Six hundred yards in air aloft, six hundred in the deep,

From Dooran to the Fairy Bridge, and round by Tullen strand,

Level and long, and white with waves, where gull and curlew stand;

Head out to sea when on your lee the breakers you discern

Adieu to all the billowy coast and winding banks of Erne !

V

Farewell, Coolmore! Bundoran! and your summer crowds that run

From inland homes to see with joy th' Atlantic-setting

sun;

To breathe the buoyant salted air, and sport among the waves;

To gather shells on sandy beach, and tempt the gloomy caves;

To watch the flowing, ebbing tide, the boats, the crabs, the fish ;

Young men and maids to meet and smile, and form a tender wish;

The sick and old in search of health, for all things have their turn

And I must quit my native shore and the winding banks of Erne!

VI

Farewell to every white cascade from the Harbour to Belleek,

And every pool where fins may rest, and ivy-shaded

creek;

The sloping fields, the lofty rocks, where ash and holly grow,

The one split yew-tree gazing on the curving flood below;

The Lough, that winds through islands under Turaw mountain green;

And Castle Caldwell's stretching woods, with tranquil bays between ;

And Breesie. Hill, and many a pond among the heath

and fern

For I must say adieu―adieu to the winding banks of Erne!

VII

The thrush will call through Camlin groves the live

long summer day;

The waters run by mossy cliff, and bank with wild

flowers gay;

The girls will bring their work and sing beneath a twisted thorn,

Or stray with sweethearts down the path among the growing corn;

Along the riverside they go, where I have often been

Oh! never shall I see again the days that I have

seen!

A thousand chances are to one I never may return. Adieu to Belashanny, and the winding banks of Erne.

VIII

Adieu to evening dances, when merry neighbours meet,

And the fiddle says to boys and girls: "Get up and shake your feet!

To "shanachus" and wise old talk of Erin's days gone by

Who trench'd the rath on such a hill, and where the bones may lie

Of saint, or king, or warrior chief; with tales of fairy

power,

And tender ditties sweetly sung to pass the twilight hour.

The mournful song of exile is now for me to learn Adieu, my dear companions on the winding banks of Erne!

IX

Now measure from the Commons down to each end

of the Purt,

Round the Abbey, Moy, and Knather—I wish no one any hurt;

The Main Street, Back Street, College Lane, the Mall, and Portnasun,

If any foes of mine are there, I pardon every one.

I hope that man and womankind will do the same by

me;

For my heart is sore and heavy at voyaging the sea. My loving friends I'll bear in mind, and often fondly

turn

To think of Belashanny, and the winding banks of Erne.

X

If ever I'm a money'd man, I mean, please God, to

cast

My golden anchor in the place where youthful years were pass'd;

Though heads that now are black and brown must meanwhile gather gray,

New faces rise by every hearth, and old ones drop

away

Yet dearer still that Irish hill than all the world

beside;

It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam, through lands and waters wide.

And if the Lord allows me, I surely will return

To my native Belashanny, and the winding banks of

Erne.