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!

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,

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