(3rd Centenary of last Siege) The Shannon, queen of Irish rivers, sweeps By chapel, church, castle walls and towers; Bejewelled in glittering marcasite sprays As it plunges over Curraghgower. Over sweet Plassey’s heights its waters have come, Past Thomas; Island and by the old millstream, It’s beauty painted in by The Master’s hand Forever haunts my sweetest dreams. Oh! Limerick you wear so well your old battle scars, In contrast to your so peaceful ambience. You have always carried your head on high Even through your most bitter experiences. Such new-found golden glamour as you wear Quite truly is not cosmetic only, But the raiment of never dying hope And the hard-earned reward of pre-destined glory. Your sons and daughters as yet unborn, When they learn your ancient history, Will love you with deep tender feelings For your beauty but even more for your proud story.