Liffey

Four men in chariots were on the Plain of Liffey at their game, Conaire himself and his three fosterbrothers.

How is it, man, when there's a Peace on and the month is February and there's no frost south of the Liffey?

I moved among them on the frozen Liffey, that I, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires.

"'Tis like a fête and gala on the old stinking Liffey," says Peter Bligh, peering with me across the busy sea.

A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises hungrily from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their beaks.