Over the hills of Lough,
The boys go now
With their pockets

Full of promises;
And their heels kicking
The dust from their feet,

Like fathers pushing away
The years shown in their greying hair.
Listen. The voices carry.

The boys have shouldered
The labours of centuries;
And now over the hills of Lough

They go now,
With their caps
On their heads

And over the brow;
Leaving the girls
To their maidenhood

And the old men
Who once climbed
The hills, but soon

Came back again.