Under the Shadow of Kiley's Hill

This is the place where they all were bred; / Some of the rafters are standing still; / Now they are scattered and lost and dead, / Every one from the old nest fled, / Out of the shadow of Kiley's Hill.

Better it is that they ne'er came back -- / Changes and chances are quickly rung; / Now the old homestead is gone to rack, / Green is the grass on the well-worn track / Down by the gate where the roses clung.