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.
| Canadian Vindicator