Down In Maghery.
by Moses Teggart. Springfield Mass. June 23 1906
|Cabins of the humble poor-
Digger, ditcher, fisherman;
An old white chapel to be sure,
Doing all the good it can;
A thatched white farmhouse or two,
A tavern – Oh the pity! There,
Men should bibber in the brew,
Life betowering anywhere.
An old plank ferry, towed across
Wan Blackwater, over it,
Some for profit some for loss,
Scores of jobbing bodice flit,
Men and cattle from Tyrone,
Lads and colts from Portadown,
Make the place, from nothing grown,
Busy as a market town.
|Pollen fresh, by the boatload,
Packed and shipped across the 2say",
Came and "luck2 on them bestowed,
Maghery trollers well repay.
Glower down may that old pile-
Derrywarrach, long time named,
But the wide lough’s sunlit smile,
Seen from Maghery, far is famed.
The fir wood, through which folk pass,
|Flowers ablcom by stone and wall;
Dasies in wee flower beds;
Hollyhocks, as sunflowers tall;
Poppies lifting scarlet heads
To a sky of sunny blue;
Oats in plots of thirsty sand,
And, in blossom, praties new-
Pith and pride of Ireland.
A little seaport seems the place,
Smelling times of pitch and tar,
Lough blowing in it’s face,
Dock holes green with gint and glar,-
Yet, to-day, how many hearts,
Far across the briny sea,
Sigh, full sick of foreing parts,
Home in Maghery to Be!