And though she slumbers, deep, so deep,
Her golden memory may not sleep!
[p 7]
]AT KILLYBEGS
At Killybegs above the crags
The gray gulls pipe with voices thinned,
And all the green trees are like flags
That wave and waver in the wind.
At Killybegs about the dunes
Rustle the crispy grass and whin,
And low the long tide croons and croons