OH, Mr. Froude, how wise and good, To point us out this way to glory -- They're no great shakes, those Snowdon Lakes, And all their pounders myth and story. Blow Snowdon! What's Lake Gwynant to Killarney, Or spluttering Welsh to tender blarney, blarney, blarney? So Thomas Hughes, sir, if you choose, I'll tell you where we think of going, To swate and far o'er cliff and scar, Hear horns of Elfland faintly blowing; Blow Snowdon! There's a hundred lakes to try in, And fresh caught salmon daily, frying, frying, frying. Geology and botany A hundred wonders shall diskiver, We'll flog and troll in strid and hole, And skim the cream of lake and river. Blow Snowdon! give me Ireland for my pennies, Hurrah! for salmon, grilse, and -- Dennis, Dennis, Dennis! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOUSE'S PETITION TO DOCTOR PRIESTLY FOUND IN THE TRAP .. by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD MADRIGAL: 1 by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN FRIENDSHIP by RALPH WALDO EMERSON A GLASS OF BEER by JAMES STEPHENS RIDDLE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD TO THE MOONFLOWER by CRAVEN LANGSTROTH BETTS |