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| IN purple robes old Sliavnamon | |
| Towers monarch of the mountains, | |
| The first to catch the smiles of dawn, | |
| With all his woods and fountains;— | |
| His streams dance down by tower and town, | 5 |
| But none since Time began her | |
| Met mortal sight so pure and bright | |
| As winding, wandering Anner. | |
| |
| In hillside’s gleam or woodland’s gloom, | |
| O’er fairy height and hollow, | 10 |
| Upon her banks gay flowerets bloom, | |
| Where’er her course I follow. | |
| And halls of pride tower o’er her tide, | |
| And gleaming bridges span her, | |
| As, laughing gay, she winds away, | 15 |
| The gentle, murmuring Anner. | |
| |
| There gallant men, for freedom born, | |
| With friendly grasp will meet you; | |
| There lovely maids, as bright as morn, | |
| With sunny smiles will greet you; | 20 |
| And there they strove to raise above | |
| The Red, Green Ireland’s banner,— | |
| There yet its fold they ’ll see unrolled | |
| Upon the banks of Anner. | |
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| ’T is there we ’ll stand, with bosoms proud, | 25 |
| True soldiers of our sireland, | |
| When freedom’s wind blows strong and loud, | |
| And floats the flag of Ireland. | |
| Let tyrants quake, and doubly shake | |
| Each traitor and trepanner, | 30 |
| When once we raise our camp-fire’s blaze | |
| Upon the banks of Anner. | |
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| O God! be with the good old days, | |
| The days so light and airy, | |
| When to blithe friends, I sang my lays | 35 |
| In gallant, gay Tipperary; | |
| When fair maids’ sighs and witching eyes | |
| Made my young heart the planner | |
| Of castles rare, built in the air, | |
| Upon the banks of Anner! | 40 |
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| The morning sun may fail to show | |
| His light the earth illuming; | |
| Old Sliavnamon to blush and glow | |
| In autumn’s purple blooming; | |
| And shamrocks green no more be seen, | 45 |
| And breezes cease to fan her, | |
| Ere I forget the friends I met | |
| Upon the banks of Anner! | |
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