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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536757" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Winding Banks Of Erne</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Adieu to Belashanny!<br>where I was bred and born;<br>Go where I may, I'll think of you,<br>as sure as night and morn.<br>The kindly spot, the friendly town,<br>where every one is known,<br>And not a face in all the place<br>but partly seems my own;<br>There's not a house or window,<br>there's not a field or hill,<br>But, east or west, in foreign lands,<br>I'll recollect them still.<br>I leave my warm heart with you,<br>tho' my back I'm forced to turn-<br>Adieu to Belashanny,<br>and the winding banks of Erne!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No more on pleasant evenings<br>we'll saunter down the Mall,<br>When the trout is rising to the fly,<br>the salmon to the fall.<br>The boat comes straining on her net,<br>and heavily she creeps,<br>Cast off, cast off-she feels the oars,<br>and to her berth she sweeps;<br>Now fore and aft keep hauling,<br>and gathering up the clew,<br>Till a silver wave of salmon<br>rolls in among the crew.<br>Then they may sit, with pipes a-lit,<br>and many a joke and 'yarn';-<br>Adieu to Belashanny,<br>and the winding banks of Erne!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The music of the waterfall,<br>the mirror of the tide,<br>When all the green-hill'd harbour<br>is full from side to side,<br>From Portnasun to Bulliebawns,<br>and round the Abbey Bay,<br>From rocky Inis Saimer<br>to Coolnargit sandhills gray;<br>While far upon the southern line,<br>to guard it like a wall,<br>The Leitrim mountains clothed in blue<br>gaze calmly over all,<br>And watch the ship sail up or down,<br>the red flag at her stern;-<br>Adieu to these, adieu to all<br>the winding banks of Erne!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Farewell to you, Kildoney lads,<br>and them that pull an oar,<br>A lug-sail set, or haul a net,<br>from the Point to Mullaghmore;<br>From Killybegs to bold Slieve-League,<br>that ocean-mountain steep,<br>Six hundred yards in air aloft,<br>six hundred in the deep,<br>From Dooran to the Fairy Bridge,<br>and round by Tullen strand,<br>Level and long, and white with waves,<br>where gull and curlew stand;<br>Head out to sea when on your lee<br>the breakers you discern!-<br>Adieu to all the billowy coast,<br>and winding banks of Erne!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Farewell, Coolmore,-Bundoran! and<br>your summer crowds that run<br>From inland homes to see with joy<br>th' Atlantic-setting sun;<br>To breathe the buoyant salted air,<br>and sport among the waves;<br>To gather shells on sandy beach,<br>and tempt the gloomy caves;<br>To watch the flowing, ebbing tide,<br>the boats, the crabs, the fish;<br>Young men and maids to meet and smile,<br>and form a tender wish;<br>The sick and old in search of health,<br>for all things have their turn-<br>And I must quit my native shore,<br>and the winding banks of Erne!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Farewell to every white cascade<br>from the Harbour to Belleek,<br>And every pool where fins may rest,<br>and ivy-shaded creek;<br>The sloping fields, the lofty rocks,<br>where ash and holly grow,<br>The one split yew-tree gazing<br>on the curving flood below;<br>The Lough, that winds through islands<br>under Turaw mountain green;<br>And Castle Caldwell's stretching woods,<br>with tranquil bays between;<br>And Breesie Hill, and many a pond<br>among the heath and fern,-<br>For I must say adieu-adieu<br>to the winding banks of Erne!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The thrush will call through Camlin groves<br>the live-long summer day;<br>The waters run by mossy cliff,<br>and banks with wild flowers gay;<br>The girls will bring their work and sing<br>beneath a twisted thorn,<br>Or stray with sweethearts down the path<br>among the growing corn;<br>Along the river-side they go,<br>where I have often been,<br>Oh, never shall I see again<br>the happy days I've seen!<br>A thousand chances are to one<br>I never may return,-<br>Adieu to Belashanny,<br>and the winding banks of Erne!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Adieu to evening dances,<br>when merry neighbours meet,<br>And the fiddle says to boys and girls,<br>'Get up and shake your feet!'<br>To 'seanachas' and wise old talk<br>of Erin's days gone by-<br>Who trench'd the rath on such a hill,<br>and where the bones may lie<br>Of saint, or king, or warrior chief;<br>with tales of fairy power,<br>And tender ditties sweetly sung<br>to pass the twilight hour.<br>The mournful song of exile<br>is now for me to learn-<br>Adieu, my dear companions<br>on the winding banks of Erne!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now measure from the Commons down<br>to each end of the Purt,<br>Round the Abbey, Moy, and Knather,-<br>I wish no one any hurt;<br>The Main Street, Back Street, College Lane,<br>the Mall, and Portnasun,<br>If any foes of mine are there,<br>I pardon every one.<br>I hope that man and womankind<br>will do the same by me;<br>For my heart is sore and heavy<br>at voyaging the sea.<br>My loving friends I'll bear in mind,<br>and often fondly turn<br>To think of Belashanny,<br>and the winding banks of Erne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If ever I'm a money'd man,<br>I mean, please God, to cast<br>My golden anchor in the place<br>where youthful years were pass'd;<br>Though heads that now are black and brown<br>must meanwhile gather gray,<br>New faces rise by every hearth,<br>and old ones drop away-<br>Yet dearer still that Irish hill<br>than all the world beside;<br>It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam<br>through lands and waters wide.<br>And if the Lord allows me,<br>I surely will return<br>To my native Belashanny,<br>and the winding banks of Erne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Allingham">William Allingham</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536757" data-title="The Winding Banks Of Erne de William Allingham" data-description="Adieu to Belashanny!
where I was bred and born;
Go where I may, I'll think of you,
as sure as night and morn.
The kindly spot, the friendly town,
where every one is known,
And not a face in all the place
but partly seems my own;
There's not a hous..."></div>
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