I’ve heard great talk of the river Barrow,
The Grand Canal, and Dungarvan Bay,
The River Nile, where the crocodile
And alligator do sport and play;
But of all the rivers in the Irish nation,
To hear them praised myself I can’t endure,
Barring one I doats on, where boats they floats on-
You know I mean the sweet river Suir.
This noble river presents a prospect
From Muckincannon to Slievenamon,
It has the most divinest aspect
You ever set your two eyes upon,
The stately buildings of Poulakerry
And Kineer Castle that’s so demure,
If you walked from Paris to where Rathgar is,
You’d never meet the river Suir.
You sons of Neptune, I mean the boatmen,
You are the rulers of this fine stream-
You are the navigators and conservators,
The best that Nature could ever frame.
When hauling horses and warbling sea-gulls,
They join a chorlls-melodiuus, pure-
Sure the flukes and eels dance jigs and reels
By the lovely banks of the sirver Suir.
‘Tis there you’d see the sweet maids a-maying,
The jackass braying in strains so pure,
Quails, rooks, and rails, and the sweet wagtails,
That adorn the’,banks of the lovely Suir.
‘Tis there you’d see Mat Tyran’s daughter
Washing praties fornenst the dure,
And on the other side, as you’d cross the water,
You’d hear Cullinan’s bulls most melodious roar.
‘Tis there the roses so sweetly growses
That gives your roses so sweet a scent,
And the daffadowndillies, and little Billy
Harney reading his Testament.
Oh, if I had the famed tongue of Homer,
Titus, Vespasian, or Daniel Bran,
Nebuehadnezzar, or Julius Ccesar,
Or Harry Stottle, that mighty man,
To describe its beauties they were never able-
Its meandering banks, so transparent pure;
It far surpasses mugs, jugs, and glasses-
The heavens be with you, sweet river Suir.
By Colehill as oft as I did stroll,
That lies to the north of sweet Fairy Hill,
Where the pretty lasses in summer passes
Leading from the Spa to Dudley Mill.
Written by Phil Smith.