CONEY ISLAND by Moses Teggart, Springfield, Mass. U.S.A. 1900. |
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Coney Island in Lough Neagh Embosomed in the smiling bay - Milltown Bay whose sandy shore Often I have gambolled o'er, Burdened not by that I wore. Furlongs seven from the strand, From the beach of silver sand, Lies the round, romantic isle, Rich in antiquarian pile - Ruin, cromlech, stone and stile. There, the warrior knights of old, Or saintly men of finer mould Bowed the knee in balmy bowers, Built their turrets, shrines and towers - Shafts that now are crowned with flowers. There, philosopher may find |
There, the merry schoolboy may Roam at random, blithe and gay; There, the hopeful lover sow Her name in wallflower that will blow When love may be a word of woe. Coney Island, far away, Fairest jewel in Lough Neagh, Your have got a namesake here Which I've never gone anear, Lest Nature outraged should appear. Coney Island in Lough Neagh, |
Coney Island doubly fair, Since thy calm I cannot share, One of Erin's islands blest, Oh, that I in thee might rest When old and weary of the West. Though in other lands I roam, From the grassy height at home Memory sees thee - than the hill Grander, fairer, greener still, Dark 'neath skies of daffodil! For the evening sun goes down And the light is like a crown, And the winds are hushed the while Parting day doth beam and smile On fairy-haunted Coney Island. |