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| KILLYNOOGAN,—hallowed name,— | |
| Though thou ’rt little known to fame, | |
| My heart’s homage thou dost claim. | |
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| Though to stranger ears thou be | |
| But a word of mystery, | 5 |
| Meaning deep thou hast for me. | |
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| All thy quaint old masonry | |
| Now before my eyes I see, | |
| As of old it used to be. | |
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| Ah! too well I can recall | 10 |
| Every stone in every wall,— | |
| In my heart I count them all. | |
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| And the lawn before the door, | |
| I can see it as of yore, | |
| Bright with daisies spangled o’er. * * * * * | 15 |
| And the garden full of flowers, | |
| Where I ’ve past romantic hours, | |
| Dreaming of fair ladies’ bowers. | |
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| In the orchard, stretched at ease | |
| On the grass, I hear the breeze | 20 |
| Piping ’mong the apple-trees. | |
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| While from many a leafy nook, | |
| Grave as parson at his book, | |
| Rook replieth unto rook. | |
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| I can hear the river’s flow | 25 |
| As it murmurs, soft and low, | |
| Bringing news from Pettigo. | |
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| I can watch it to the mill, | |
| Where the never-tiring wheel | |
| Dances round and drinks its fill. | 30 |
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| Past the ever-bubbling “spa,” | |
| Past the castle of Magra, | |
| Razed by Cromwell’s cruel law, | |
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| On it goes with many a turn, | |
| Playing with its fringe of fern, | 35 |
| Till it touches broad Lough Erne. * * * * * | |
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