The Flower of Sweet Benbradagh Hill

One evening fair, to take the air,

By Curragh lawns I chanced to stray;

I spied a maid, her beauty swayed,

The fairest gem that blooms in May.

Her lovely form did nature charm

As o' er the lawns she roamed at will;

Perception smiled, she looked so mild,

This matchless flower of Benbradagh Hill

Sweet nature's face of loveliest grace,

Lit up by nature's self divine;

The echoes there in chorus swell,

their mingling notes of every kind.

The feathered throng convened in song,

Charm with their sweetly vocal skill;

While flora now bedecked her brow,

With the flowers bloomed on Benbradagh Hill

The muses nine, to prosper mine,

Came here to strew her path with flowers;

The sylvan train bedecked the plain,

As ever did my bosom fill,

Their heartfelt lays resound with praise

As she views the flowers on Benbradagh Hill.

To tell her name might cause some blame

Hereafter on the mountain bard;

Forsake would she and sever me

From one I fervently regard.

Could I like Homer or Virgil sing,

I ne'er would dropmy rustic quill,

But sing in praise of the happy days

With the flower of sweet Benbradagh Hill

This damsel fair, beyond compare,

She now intends to go away;

She was the beauty of our land,

Fair as the goddess of the sea.

Till she returns those hills will mourn,

With doleful notes their valleys fill;

The raging tide bore off with pride

the flower of sweet Benbradagh Hill.