Though times eating canker consumes this fair column

The relics that crude devastation has spared
Yet time cannot blot out of memory’s volume
The deep graven traces of youthful regard

For still in my bosom in fond recollection
Of dear youthful joys that are many years o’er
My heart with its warm flowing tide of affection
Shall always remember my dear native shore

But soon far from her plains, woods and floods I was borne
To where Finn’s high streams and moorland, Mourne’s roar
Were all around me at eve and at morn
To keep me in mind of my dear native shore

Where skirted with borders of wild shrubs and fern
And oaks in tall clusters enliven the scene
In childhood I played by the banks of Lough Erne
And loved her sweet woods waving bonny and green.

For still in my bosom in fond recollection
Of dear youthful joys that are many years o’er
My heart with its warm flowing tide of affection
Shall always remember my dear native shore.