While ages rolled backwards in lengthened array,
In song and old story, the long summer day;
And cloud-like the glories of Connaught rolled by,
Till they sank in the horrors of grim Athenry!
Through the heaths of Kiltullagh, kind, simple, though rude,
To Aeluin’s bright waters, where Willesborough stood,
Ballinlough then spoke welcome from many a door,
Where smiles lit kind faces that now smile no more;
Then away to the Moyne, o’er the moors of Mayo,
Still onward, still welcomed by high and by low,