It ravelling nortime, giving a o a farmer noime of telling ories and making     weddings.

        o overtake on to Collooney one Margaret Rooney, a er    time, and it    routed    of t last. ting back t , so Sligo, to tory as op in to tillis, s, so    be afraid of not getting good treatment, and all t ories and o all the parishes of Ireland.

        o go o find a o be listening to tory of roubles and to be f     t of t    old une of ting of t sher.

        t in talk all to t near g to t a name in the house.

        o settle doired tle    fallen in, and Mary Lavelle gone from it, and tctered, o opped long enougo see to see t ed w sown.

        It , and a fire in time, and    on table    the asking.

        , t of t some ance, and some    Ireland and her.

        Every evening to ten to ories about time of t t    o every tern in t.    t time.

        One evening of December tle song t ain, about t    Limerick, and t ray in all parts of t nigtle lads t    in, and sat on too busy ing of a potato in to take mucice of    terewasch.

        And t ts of the dreams of men.

        Of a sudden opped, and y as if    some far thing.

        Mary Gillis    stood on a table beside    off p and said, Is it of leaving us you are thinking?

        Margaret Rooney    s knooo mud came over to    t so lose so    and so good a rade, and a man t    so muc brougo her house.

        You    go away from us, my ? sche hand.

        It is not of t I am t of Ireland and t of grief t is on    o sing the wind in a lonely place.

        trees break in tter black    blo ree in a black     of ter of hoolihan.

        tones for all t Maeve    say; A are like noisy clouds    our s abeat, But    feet Of Cater of hoolihan.

        t    of ters our bodies and our blood, But purer tall dle before ter of hoolihan.

        o break, and tears came rolling do doer t t cried tears down.
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