Parent of thieves and patron best,
They brave pursuit within thy breast!
Mostly from thee its merciless snow
Grim January doth glean, I trow.
Pass off with speed, thou prowler pale,
Holding along o'er hill and dale,
Spilling a noxious spittle round,
Spoiling the fairies' sporting ground!
Move off to hell, mysterious haze;
Wherein deceitful meteors blaze;
Thou wild of vapour, vast, o'ergrown,
Huge as the ocean of unknown."
As we descended, the path became more steep; it was particularly so
at a part where it was overshadowed with trees on both sides.
Here, finding walking very uncomfortable, my knees suffering much,
I determined to run. So shouting to John Jones, "Nis gallav
gerdded rhaid rhedeg," I set off running down the pass. My
companion followed close behind, and luckily meeting no mischance,
we presently found ourselves on level ground, amongst a collection
of small houses. On our turning a corner a church appeared on our
left hand on the slope of the hill. In the churchyard, and close
to the road, grew a large yew-tree which flung its boughs far on
every side. John Jones stopping by the tree said, that if I looked
over the wall of the yard I should see the tomb of a Lord
Dungannon, who had been a great benefactor to the village.
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