Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Ireland: Vol. V. 1876–79.
The Town of Passage
By Francis Sylvester Mahony (Father Prout) (1804–1866)T
Is both large and spacious,
And situated
Upon the say;
’T is nate and dacent,
And quite adjacent
To come from Cork
On a summer’s day.
There you may slip in
To take a dipping,
Forenent the shipping
That at anchor ride;
Or in a wherry
Cross o’er the ferry
To “Carrigaloe,
On the other side.”
This place so charming,
With sailors’ garments
Hung out to dry;
And each abode is
Snug and commodious,
With pigs melodious
In their straw-built sty.
’T is there the turf is,
And lots of Murphies,
Dead sprats and herrings,
And oyster-shells;
Nor any lack, O!
Of good tobacco,
Though what is smuggled
By far excels.
And from Barbadoes,
But the leading trade is
In whiskey-punch;
And you may go in
Where one Molly Bowen
Keeps a nate hotel
For a quiet lunch.
But land or deck on,
You may safely reckon,
Whatsoever country
You come hither from,
On an invitation
To a jollification
With a parish priest
That ’s called “Father Tom.”
For lodging convicts,—
A floating “stone jug”
Of amazing bulk;
The hake and salmon,
Playing at backgammon,
Swim for divarsion
All round this hulk.
There “Saxon” jailers
Keep brave repailers
Who soon with sailors
Must anchor weigh
From th’ em’rald island,
Ne’er to see dry land
Until they spy land
In sweet Bot’ny Bay.