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John Reade

Killynoogan--hallowed name-
Though thou'art little known to fame
My heart's homage thou dost claim.

Ah, too well I can recall
Every stone in every wall,--
In my heart I count them all.


I can hear the river's flow
As it murmurs, soft and low,
Bringing news from Pettigo.

I can watch it to the mill,
Where the never-tiring wheel
Dances round and drinks its fill.

Past the ever-babbling "spa",
Past the castle of Magra,
Razed by Cromwell's cruel law.

On it goes with many a turn
Playing with its fringe of fern
Till it reaches broad Lough Erne.

Here I leave thee, little stream,
Lost, like much I dearest dream
In my life's oft-shifting dream.


But, beloved and sacred spot,
Nought of thee shall be forgot,
Till what I am now--is not.

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