Чарльз Грэхем Халпин (Charles Graham Halpine)

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 enwreathe 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 nobler 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.

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