William Allingham

“ 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!
Farewell to every white cascade from the Harbour to Belleck,
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 ”

“ No more on pleasant evenings we'll saunter down the Mall,
Where the trout is rising to the fly, the salmon to the fall,
The boat comes straining on her net, and heavily she creeps,
Cast off, cast off!—she feels the oars, and to her berth she sweeps ”