All ye gentle muses I hope you will draw near,
And likewise pay attention unto those few lines you’ll hear;
Impressed of Cahermurphy and its people all around,
In highest rend, each muse contends so glorious I will sound.

I’ve rambled as a labourer beneath its verdant plains.
Through lovely situations and splendid fine domains.
Through the ancient ruins of religion and stations of renown;
But none like Cahermurphy in rambling have I found.

The wordless join in chorus to greet the rising sun,
The busy bees forladen, the fields with music hum;
The flitting gilted butterflies with its various spots and hues,
And they all producing plenty - a subject for each muse.

Adieu but see its lovely maids, as they come from their toil.
With Diana’s painted features, those Irish lassies foil.
Their hair remains majestic, pure as beauty’s mould;
Ah, happy is the young man in, whose arms they'll unfold.

Their fireside blaze to warm us the pilgrim on his way.
Their table laid with plenty, his hunger to allay.
A place of rest his bed is dressed, by maidens' hands so pure;
And a thousand other welcomes within their sheltered door.