[From Mannin, #3, 1914]
"Lhondoo, Lhondoo, whither are you flying,
The wind blows coldly through the mountain bare.
In the Curragh now sunny gleams are lying,
And a homely nest is waiting for me there."
Poor Ushag-Reeast, piping late and early,
While round her still the mountain torrents roar
But away and free singing in the barley,
The faithless Lhondoo left her evermore,
" Cushag. "