How light is my heart as I journey along,
Now my perilous service is o'er!
I think on sweet home, and I carol
a song In remembrance of her I adore;
How sad was the hour when I bade her adieu!
Her tears spoke her grief, though her words were but few,
She hung on my bosom, and sigh'd, O be true,
When you're far from the green Inismore!

Robert Tannahill

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