Let each man praise the river
That's dearest to his heart,
The Rhine, the Guadalquivir,
The Danube or the Dart.
Let others sing the Tavy,
The Tweed, the Wye, the Lea,
Give me the Magaguadavic,
The Digdeguash for me.
Some men choose lakes for fishing—
Ceceebe or Couchiching,
Namabinagashishing,
Kenongewagaming.
I'll take my affidavy
That what they say is bosh;
Give me the Magaguadavic,
Give me the Digdeguash!
Beneath the shady willow
Cast cunningly your flies,
His wake a widening billow;
Behold the monster rise!
No dreadnought in the navy
Could make so big a splosh;
You'd hear at Magaguadavic
The trout of Digdeguash!
Behind the purple spruces
The golden sunset dies,
As each his pipe produces
And puts away his flies.
The basket's full, the slavey
To-morrow morn shall wash
The spoils of Magaguadavic,
The loot of Digdeguash!
And when upon the table
They come to lie in state,
Hardly shall we be able
A decent grace to wait.
They need no sauce nor gravy,
For none can beat, by gosh!
The trout of Magaguadavic,
But those of Digdeguash!
O restless Bay of Fundy,
O mist and fog and rain,
Hope whispers I may one day
Behold you yet again.
How gladly would I brave ye,
Nor ask a mackintosh,
To see the Magaguadavic,
To fish the Digdeguash.
Callirrhoe's fair daughters
Have fled their ancient grots;
The voice of many waters
Turns shrieking into watts.
But spare, oh! spare, I crave ye,
Amid the general squash,
The falls of Magaguadavic,
The rips of Digdeguash!
1910.
Pronounced Mackadavy.