I love the sunny shores of France

I love the Italian skies

Where beauty beams o'er fields and streams

And nature reigns sublime

I love the Alps, the winding Rhine

The classic Po and Rhone

But ten times more do I adore

The skies o'er Ballyroan



The golden sun ne'er shone upon

A sweeter little town

The purling rill that runs the mill

Through hazel shades runs down

The moat (motte), high crowned with noble trees

Its origins unknown

Its silver grays illumes the place

For miles round Ballyroan



The chapel spire high over all

Points to the crystal sky

The vesper's chimes proclaim the time

When evening worships night

And home the hearty workman hikes

His hour of toil now flown

With songs of cheer and Scully's beer

Enlivens Ballyroan



Oh, Bally Roan, me native home

With grief my heart is sore

Within my breastand you oppressed

I'd act the hero's part

If I should fall for Ireland's cause

Like Emmett and Wolfe Tone

Then my last sigh to God on high

Would be for Ballyroan