Let me see, it is now about five years ago, When, admiring the Irish and blarney, I packed up all my traps, and my tackle also, And set sail for the banks of Killarney. I had heard of the lovely and beautiful views Which adorned the fair Emerald Isle; So as long as I'd time I resolved to roam through, And admire what had made Nature smile.
My feelings, as the sea I crossed, Are distant from the tale; Suffice it that I suffered loss-- 'Twas not a pleasant sail. My rising thoughts unable to control, I drowned my sorrows in the waves that roll; The sickly waves a tribute would demand, Nor gave me rest till I obeyed command.
With much delight I traversed o'er The land of Pats and praties, And mourned to note from what I saw That indolence their fate is. A pipe stuck easy in their mouth For mind and body food is; Their dress, I must say, is uncouth, For it next door to nude is.... I'm speaking of the lower sort, Not so bad are their betters; Though some, who wealth find ready wrought, Rest in luxurious fetters. And have they been for ever so? Industrious, were they never? Some things I've seen would p'rhaps say, "No, As now they were not ever." But think not, reader, I intend To write on why and wherefore; I know not what these folks will mend, So cannot tell you therefore. (Though industry in some to plant I tried, and put in training; But soon they cried, "O mend-i-cant!"-- So beggars are remaining.) Nor is it now my wish to write On Ireland's beauteous scenery; Though filled with rapture and delight, I'll spare you what I've seen; or I Might fill a dozen pages quite, Describing lakes and greenery. No; such is not my present plan, On angling turns my story: The pleasures of a fisherman I soon shall lay before ye. By some mishap at Hull or Cork, My tackle was mislaid; So fate did inclination baulk, And sport some days delayed. I just had purchased, all quite new, Of flies a complete set; And though I had my rod, 'tis true, I would not fresh ones get. I'll wait, thinks I, and roam about, Though some days it may cost. I'll find the lucky places out, So time will not be lost. By telegraph's electric wire, Or steam, I'll let them know The place to which I'd fain desire These luckless flies should go.