Athy in Song

Athy - The River Remembers

Where the Barrow bends and the waters run slow,
Athy wakes where the old roads go,
By the ford and the canal’s quiet line,
The river keeps the memory of time.

Boats once moved through the morning grey,
Carrying work on the Dublin way,
By harbour stone and warehouse door,
The water shaped the heart of Athy more.

And the river remembers,
And the old stones know,
The quiet roads of Ireland
Where deep roots grow.

Athy, Athy, where the Barrow flows,
Through field and rain your old song grows,
By castle wall and canal shore,
The river still remembers more.

Athy, Athy, under Irish skies,
Where old hope falls and still can rise,
Through road and water, cross and stone,
You keep a song that is all your own.

White’s Castle stands where the crossing lay,
Guarding the river and the road by day,
Old walls rose where the border ran,
And fire once tested the heart of man.

The walls are gone, but the stories stay,
In narrow streets and the evening grey,
A town may bend through storm and flame,
Yet still rise up and keep its name.

And the stones keep speaking,
And the waters hear,
A song through the centuries,
Still drawing near.

Athy, Athy, where the Barrow flows,
Through field and rain your old song grows,
By castle wall and canal shore,
The river still remembers more.

Athy, Athy, under Irish skies,
Where old hope falls and still can rise,
Through road and water, cross and stone,
You keep a song that is all your own.

Where old friars prayed and the candles shone,
Christ-light lived when the years moved on,
By stone and Scripture, wind and rain,
The old prayer rises again.

Not every town must shout its creed,
Some keep faith like a hidden seed,
By Barrow water, field and sky,
The Gospel breathes and does not die.

The famine years left shadows deep,
And workhouse walls learned how to weep,
Seventeen ninety-eight still calls,
Through memory stones and weathered walls.

Not to wake old hatred again,
But to honour sorrow, courage, and pain,
For every town with tears behind
Can still hold mercy in its mind.

From Kildare fields to the polar night,
Shackleton carried a fearless light,
And Athy keeps that explorer’s name,
Like courage guarded through ice and flame.

Now walkers pass where the barges lay,
And bicycles shine in the morning grey,
The Blueway bends where the waters gleam,
And Athy still follows its river dream.

Athy, Athy, where the Barrow flows,
Through field and rain your old song grows,
By castle wall and canal shore,
The river still remembers more.

Athy, Athy, under Irish skies,
Where old hope falls and still can rise,
Through road and water, cross and stone,
You keep a song that is all your own.

Athy, Athy, hearts awake,
Through every bridge and field and lane,
From Barrow water to the open sky,
Your song goes on where Ireland lies.

By the old ford road, through rain and flame,
Athy remembers its quiet name.