The music of the waterfall, the mirror of the tide, When all the green-hill'd harbour is full from side to side, From Portnasun to Bulliebawns, and round the Abbey Bay, From rocky Inis Saimer to Coolnargit sandhills gray; While far upon the southern line, to guard it like a wall, The Leitrim mountains clothed in blue gaze calmly over all, And watch the ship sail up or down, the red flag at her stern;-- Adieu to these, adieu to all the winding banks of Erne! Farewell to you, Kildoney lads, and them that pull an oar, A lug-sail set, or haul a net, from the Point to Mullaghmore; From Killybegs to bold Slieve-League, that ocean-mountain steep, Six hundred yards in air aloft, six hundred in the deep; From Dooran to the Fairy Bridge, and round by Tullen strand, Level and long, and white with waves, where gull and curlew stand; Head out to sea when on your lee the breakers you discern!-- Adieu to all the billowy coast, and winding banks of Erne! Farewell, Coolmore,--Bundoran! and your summer crowds that run From inland homes to see with joy th' Atlantic setting sun; 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! 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! The thrush will call through Camlin groves the live-long summer day; The waters run by mossy cliff, and banks with wild flowers gay; The girls will bring their work and sing beneath a twisted thorn, Or stray with sweethearts down the path among the growing corn; Along the river-side they go, where I have often been,-- O never shall I see again the days that I have seen! A thousand chances are to one I never may return,-- Adieu to Ballyshanny, and the winding banks of Erne!