Oh, sweet Adare! oh, lovely vale!
Oh, soft retreat of sylvan splendour!
Nor summer sun nor morning gale
E'er hail'd a scene more softly tender.
How shall I tell the thousand charms
Within thy verdant bosom dwelling,
Where, lull'd in Nature's fost'ring arms,
Soft peace abides and joy excelling.
Ye morning airs, how sweet at dawn
The slumbering boughs your song awaken,
Or linger o'er the silent lawn,
With odour of the harebell taken.
Thou rising sun, how richly gleams
Thy smile from far Knockfierna's mountain,
O'er waving woods and bounding ...