THE HILLS OF INISHOWEN

My eyes grow dim, my hair turns grey,
My back is bent with age,
And on my face the hand of time
Hath traced a well-filled page
The roving spirit of my youth
Is gone, I'm feeble grown;
I'll spend the remnant of my days
'Mongst hills of Inishowen.

In youthful days afar I've strayed;
A-wooing fortune's smile;
That shy, eluding, fickle dame
Bid me from home begile.
But ne'er her favours could I gain,
To me her frowns were shown;
Oh! would that I had never left
The hills of Inishowen

Oft have I seen far higher hills
By many a foreign strand:
But none can bring such happy thrills
As our own native land.
They speak to us in tender voice,
With charm that's all their own;
Tho' far away my thoughts would stray
Towards hills of Inishowen.

And now in eventide of life,
When toil-filled years have sped;
I rest me where in childhood's days
A carefree life I led
When after life's long day shall close,
My spirit shall have flown;
O, lay this worn-out frame to rest
'Neath hills of Inishowen.

"The Bard of Inishowen".

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