Dear scenes of my childhood which never could tire,
When a boy I picked beech-nuts in wild Glenaboe,
Oh, I think of old Ireland, wherever I go.
And how oft have I drank out of Barranane’s Well,
In whose clear waters there lurks a bright spell,
The afflicted go there to find ease for their woe,
For I think of old Ireland wherever I go.
And how oft have I swam in the Blackwater’s tide,
And roam’d the sweet wild woods around Castle Hyde,
For it’s through its wild woodland the Blackwaters flow,