Donaghadee

                    (Song)

I've never gone to Donaghadee,
That vague far townlet by the sea;
In Donaghadee I shall never be:
Then why do I sing of Donaghadee,
That I know not in a faint degree? . . .
—Well, once a woman wrote to me
With a tender pen from Donaghadee.
"Susan", I've sung, "Pride of Kildare",
Because I'd heard of a Susan there,
The "Irish Washerwoman's" capers
I've shared for hours to midnight tapers,
And "Kitty O'Linch" has made me spin
Till dust rose high, and day broke in:
That other "Kitty, of Coleraine",
Too, set me aching in heart and brain:
While "Kathleen Mavourneen", of course, would ring
When that girl learnt to make me sing.
Then there was "Irish Molly O"
I tuned as "the fairest one I know",
And "Nancy Dawson", if I remember,
Rhymed sweet in moonlight one September.

But the damsel who once wrote so free
And tender-toned from Donaghadee,
Is a woman who has no name for me—
Moving sylph-like, mysteriously,
(For doubtless, of that sort is she)
In the pathways of her destiny;
But that is where I never shall be;—
And yet I sing of Donaghadee!