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4o THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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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 livelong summer day; |
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