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;

[5]

And Breesie Hill, and many a pond

among the heath and fern,—

For I must say adieu—adieu

to the winding banks of Erne!

The thrush will call through Camlin groves

the live-long summer day;

The waters run by mossy cliff,

and banks 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;

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