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When lured by dreams of salmon streams, And sylvan beauties rare, The tackle stowed you take the road, That leads to Salmonier. Observe the sacred custom Which all travellers compel Drink from the cool and limpid pool Of Father Duffy's well. Tradition tells of early days How Father Duffy found, A semblance of water Just oozing from the ground. He scraped away the turf and clay As thirst did him impel, And very soon,we had the boon Of Father Duffy's well. In gratitude to God he knelt, And blessed as holy ground That it might be a sacred spot Through all the ages down. When bridle path to highroad turned An axeman came to fell, Inviolate he kept the state Of Father Duffy's well. An elixir for man and beast Provided for all time, Secluded from life's arid road In shade of fir and pine. Refreshing weary travellers Inspiring them to tell How oft exhausted men were saved By Father Duffy's well. Then devotees who learned its worth Adorned and cleared the place, Safeguarding perpetuity For all the human race. They swept unsightly objects from The precincts of the Dell, And made a font of Paradise Of Father Duffy's well. Cursed be the man that dare profane This loved and sacred shrine, And make excuse"material use" So callous is our time. Commercial use may dollars bring But never can excell The sentimental hertiage Of Father Duffy's well.
Contributed by Martha Warren
Page Revised: July 2002 (Don Tate)
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