The Hill of Killenarden

Though time effaces memory, and griefs the bosom harden,
I'll ne'er forget, where'er I be, that day at Killenarden ;
For there, while fancy revelled wide, the summer's day flew o'er me ;
The friends I loved were at my side, and Irish fields before me.

The road was steep ; the pelting showers had cooled the sod beneath us ;
And there were lots of mountain flowers, a garland to enwreath us.
Far, far below the landscape shone with wheat and new-mown meadows,
And as o'erhead the clouds flew on, beneath swept on their shadows.

O friends, beyond the Atlantic's foam there may be noble mountains,
And in our new far western home green fields and brighter fountains ;
But as for me, let time destroy all dreams, but this one pardon,
And barren memory long enjoy that day on Killenarden.