Adieu to these, adieu to all

the winding banks of Erne!

Farewell to you, Kildoney lads,

and them that pull an oar,

A lug-sail set, or haul a net,

from the Point to Mullaghmore;

From Killybegs to bold Slieve-League,

that ocean-mountain 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!

Farewell, Coolmore,—Bundoran! and

your summer crowds that run

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