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Musings in Maoriland

The Laygind O'terry M'kow. 1

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The Laygind O'terry M'kow. 1

Big Barney M'Kow came out here from Killarney,
  His fortune to seek in the wilds o' the bush;
A bould an' adventurous divil was Barney,
  He landed before the first days o' the rush;
Och those wor the times whin the Maoris were plinty,
  An' Barney soon won a Chief's daughther somehow;
The craythur was fat, though not fair an' just twinty,
  Whin Barney first made her sweet Mrs. M'Kow.

   They started a Still in the heart of the mountains,
  Where rivulets thrickle an' catharacts flow,
The babblin' brooks an' the thricklin' fountains
  Wor fed from the hill-tops all covered with snow;
Such wather was sure to make illigant whiskey—
  Ye can't get such stuff on the Coast, darlints now—
'Twould make yer hearts light, an' yer sperrits quite friskey,
  The liquor distilled by big Barney M'Kow.

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Well, afther a time in the jue coorse o' nachure,
  A blessin' was sent to the fond lovin' pair,
The darlint risimbled his mammy in faichure,
  But favoured his dad in his lovely red hair;
Ses Barney, "He's just like his Uncle in Kerry,"
His mammy cried "Kapai!" his daddy cried "Wow!"
Be jabers me honey, we'll call the boy Terry,
  Just afther his Uncle, bould Terry M'Kow.

Well, time wor apace, an' big Barney got wealthy,
  While Terry grew up to a fine sthrappin' boy—
So sprightly an' sthrong, an' so brawny an' healthy —
  The pet o' his parents their pride an' their joy;
Begorra 'tis he that could wrastle an' tussle,
  An' handle a stick in the midst of a row,
Bad luck to the Maori, for sinew an' muscle
  Could aquil the darlint boy Terry M'Kow.

Now Terry in workin' the Still with his daddy,
  Soon larned to Worship great Bacchus divine,
An' just like the son of a thrue-hearted Paddy
  The boy took to whiskey—he coulden't taste wine—
He acted as guide to aitch towrist who thravelled,
  He'd take thim safe up o'er the tall 'mountain's brow,
The mystheries o' nachure by him wor unravelled,
  So larned and wise was bould Terry M'Kow.

page 347

But one day in summer the snow on the mountains
  Got friskey an' roulled down the gullies in floods,
An' fierce torrents roared where there used to be fountains,
  And Terry had no time to put on his duds;
The poor boy was just about wettin' his throttle
  Whin clane off his feet he was swept by a bough
That floated along—still he stuck to the bottle,
  An' clung to the brambles, brave Terry M'Kow.

On, on to the Ocean bould Terry was taken,
  But just near the beach he got stuck on the bar,
(He coulden't get past it). While shiverin' an' shakin'
  The boy was picked up by a kind-hearted tar
Who chanced to pass by an' obsarved Terry shiver—
  "Ho! messmate ahoy!" ses he, "cling to the prow."
"O thank ye," says Terry, "bad luck to that river,
  We'll call it in fuchure the Terry M'Kow."