To Meath of the pastures,
From wet hills by the sea
Through Leitrim and Longford,
Go my cattle and me.

     I hear in the darkness
Their slipping and breathing--
I name them the by-ways
They're to pass without heeding;

     Then the wet, winding roads,
Brown bogs with black water,
And my thoughts on white ships
And the King o' Spain's daughter.