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Two versions of Limerick is Beautiful are given here, written by two different authors - it is believed given the similarities of each, that they came from an anonymous or traditional original.

1. 'Limerick is Beautiful'
Dion Boucicault

Limerick is beautiful,
As everybody knows;
The river Shannon full of fish,
Through that city flows.
But 'tis not the river of the fish
That weighs upon my mind;
Nor with the town of Limerick
I've any fault to find - Ochone, ochone.

The girl I love is beautiful
And soft eyed as the fawn;
She lives in Garryowen
And is called the Colleen Bawn.
And proudly as that river flows
Through that famed city.
As proudly, and without a word,
That Colleen goes by me - Ochone, ochone.

If I was made the Emperor
Of Russia to command,
Or Julius Caesar, or the
Lord Lieutenant of the land,
I'd give my plate and golden store,
I'd give up my army;
The horses and the rifles, and the foot,
And the Royal Artillery - Ochone, ochone.

I'd give the crown from off my head
My people on their knees;
I'd give the fleet of sailing ships
Upon the briny seas.
A beggar I would go to bed,
And happy rise at dawn;
If by my side, for my sweet bride,
I had found my Colleen Bawn - Ochone, ochone.

2. 'Oh, Limerick is Beautiful'
Michael Scanlan

Oh, Limerick is beautiful.
As ev’rybody knows,
And by that city of my heart
How proud old Shannon flows!
It sweeps down by the brave old town
As pure in depth and tone
As when Sarsfield swept the Saxons from
The walls of Garryowen.

‘Tis not for Limerick I sigh –
Though I love her in my soul –
Though times will change and friends will die,
And man will not control;
No, not for friends long passed away
Or days for ever flown,
But that the maiden I adore
Is sad in Garryowen.

Oh, she I love is beautiful,
And world wide is her fame;
She dwells down by the rushing tide,
And Eire is her name;
And dearer than my very life
Her glances are to me,
The light that guides my weary soul
Across life’s stormy sea.

I loved her in my boyhood,
And now in manhood’s noon,
The vision of my life is still
To dry thy tear’s aroon;
I’d sing unto the tomb, or dance
Beneath the gallows tree,
To see her on the hills once more
Proud, passionate and free.

See also : Pat and the Pig - The Limerick Rake

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