“My native place of matchless grace,
What charms can equal thine,
Let greater beings laud sweeter scenes
To sing your praise be mine.
Thy pastures fair and gardens rare,
Which floral fragrance fills
Thy shady nooks and laughing brooks
Sweet Cashel of the hills.

Slopes steep and green can here be seen
The work of nature’s hand
And fields as fair I do declare
As e’er the breezes fanned.
And placid floods and waving woods
And silver sparkling rills,
And pleasing dells and holy wells
In Cashel of the hills”