From either side of these mountains may be seen six or eight country
towns--the beautiful grouping of hill and plain, lake, river, grove, and
dell--the reverend cathedral (of Clogher)--the white-washed cottage, and
the comfortable farm-house. To these may be added the wild upland
and the cultivated demesne, the green sheep-walk, the dark moor,
the splendid mansion, and ruined castle of former days. Delightful
remembrance! Many a day, both of sunshine and storm, have I, in the
strength and pride of happy youth, bounded, fleet as the mountain foe,
over these blue hills! Many an evening, as the yellow beams of the
setting sun shot slantingly, like rafters of gold, across the depth
of this blessed and peaceful valley, have I followed, in solitude, the
impulses of a wild and wayward fancy, and sought the quiet dell, or
viewed the setting sun, as he scattered his glorious and shining beams
through the glowing foliage of the trees, in the vista, where I stood;
or wandered along the river whose banks were fringed with the hanging
willow, whilst I listened to the thrush singing among the hazels that
crowned the sloping green above me, or watched the splashing otter, as
he ventured from the dark angles and intricacies of the upland glen,
to seek his prey in the meadow-stream during the favorable dusk of
twilight. Many a time have I heard the simple song of Roger M'Cann,
coming from the top of brown Dunroe, mellowed, by the stillness of the
hour, to something far sweeter to the heart than all that the labored
pomp of musical art and science can effect; or the song of Katty Roy,
the beauty of the village, streaming across the purple-flowered moor,

"Sweet as the shepherd's pipe upon the mountains."

Many a time, too, have I been gratified, in the same poetical hour, by
the sweet sound of honest Ned M'Keown's ungreased cartwheels, clacking,
when nature seemed to have fallen asleep after the day-stir and