Rann of Wandering

On Saint Bride's day, when it comes, I will throw a sail on the lake,

And in Kiltimagh of my friends on a fine day I'll awake,

Where the hounds will go before us, and make music of delight;

Where the fires will be piled up, and the tables spread at night!

O, my courage will be mounting up until my spirit's so,

That within a mile of the World's Mouth I will be fain to go:

Sure the scatt'ring of the mist across leaves no half wish behind,

And my heart was ever lifted with the lifting of the wind.