I have at last been to the Falls,
The Swallow Falls at Bettys-y-Coed.
We sailed upon the Mona’s Queen,
The finest paddle steamer seen.
A coach conveyed us on the road,
And George Shaw sang in fits and squalls.
We reached the glen and overhung
The roaring waters white in spate.
And down some mossy steps we went
With careful tread, sight-seeing bent.
One slipped and nearly met his fate,
Saved by his daughter’s arm outflung.
A man renowned for putting feet
Where feet were never meant to tread;
Editor of a journal Manx,
More used to curses than to thanks.
But though oft-times we’ve wished him dead,
We hoped his end be more discreet.
It may have looked when we got back
As if we’d seized an unfair chance
To rid the island of a grump,
Anticipating the Last Trump.
But though he led us all a dance,
He got home safe, alas, alack!
24. 8. 28