FROM Ross, where the clouds on Benlomond are sleeping -- From Greenock, where Clyde to the Ocean is sweeping -- From Largs, where the Scots gave the Northmen a drilling -- From Ardrossan, whose harbour cost many a shilling -- From Old Cumnock, where beds are as hard as a plank, sir -- From a chop and green pease, and a chicken in Sanquhar, This eve, please the Fates, at Drumlanrig we anchor. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY SENSES DO NOT DECEIVE ME by MARIANNE MOORE THE HEART OF A WOMAN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE WIND SUFFERS by LAURA RIDING GRACE AND STRENGTH by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: ISBRAND by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |