A Road of Ireland

From Killybegs to Ardara is seven Irish miles,
'Tis there the blackbirds whistle and the mating cuckoos call,
Beyond the fields the green sea glints, above the heaven smiles
On all the white boreens that thread the glens of Donegal.

Along the roads what feet have passed, could they but tell the story,
Of ancient king and saint and bard, the roads have known them all;
Lough Dergh, Doon Well, Glen Columcille, the names are yet a glory,
'Tis great ghosts in the gloaming remember Donegal.

The harbor slips of Killybegs glistened with Spanish sail
The days Spain ventured round the world and held the half in thrall,
And Ardara has writ her name in the proud books of the Gael,
Though sleep has fallen on them now in dream-lit Donegal.

Well, time will have its fling with dust, it is the changeless law,
But this I like to think of whatever may befall:
When she came up from Killybegs and he from Ardara
My father met my mother on the road, in Donegal.
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