— Old Slievenamon! — Did we ever indulge in day-dream of which you were not part and parcel? Its sweetest draught was to contemplate the happy homes around thy base, freed for ever from the despoiler!
Was the dream of love? It was to thy azure outline the beloved one turned her eyes to hide the blush and the tear, called up by the impassioned avowel. And when the trembling hand was at length yielded, and the pure heart wooed and won — you old mountain! Peeped in, through woodbines and sweet briar, upon a home scene, the like of which — alas! — is but too seldom to be found save in the visions of the dreamer.
And when the time for such visions was gone by, and despair crept in where hope had been —when the cup of sorrow was drained to the very dregs — was it not to thee we fled — like a child to it's mothers lap — and thou has heard the groan which torture and the rack would fail to wring in the hearing of human ear?
And when every earthly hope had withered, save one — what was it? — to sleep the last long, peaceful sleep beneath thy shadow. And saddest thought of all, is this too, but a dream, never to be fulfilled?
We do not wonder at the reply of the United Irishman, when asked, after a lifelong exile, why he returned to a land where there was not a single friend or acquaintance left to bid him welcome — "I came back" said the exile, "to see the mountains".
— Charles J. Kickham, Tales of Tipperary.