Along the river-side they go,

where I have often been,

Oh, never shall I see again

the happy days I've seen!

A thousand chances are to one

I never may return,—

Adieu to Belashanny,

and the winding banks of Erne!

Adieu to evening dances,

when merry neighbours meet,

And the fiddle says to boys and girls,

'Get up and shake your feet!'

To 'seanachas' and wise old talk

of Erin's days gone by—

[6]

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

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