Down past Don Lewis'
bonnie lakes
One morning I did stray
Until I reached Sweet Gladi
Vines Where the silvery salmon play
I strolled around
through Albonbeck And down
along
the shore
And gazed with admiration On the green
fields of Widore
I visit Maraclehor On Middletown Heights I stand
Beneath me lies the ocean white
And Maragallan Strand
Those sandy banks so dear to me Those banks I do adore
Behind me lies Sweet Terry Beck And the green fields of Widore
And above me I
love Gola And the
Englishmen so near
I see the little fishing fleet As it flies along the pier
I wander through the graveyard Where those have gone before
That once left happy and content
By the green fields of Widore
I see Sweet Dineshahar And the fair of Torrey
I view the ocean liners As they steam along
And stine On board are Irish
emigrants
With
hearts both sad and sore
As they gazed and awed Cheerful nobles On the green fields of Widore