Classic Poem

Drumore has a leash of daughters,
And wants men for the three;
Six milch-cows go with Juliet,
And a mare of pedigree;
With Bell a score of wethers,
And a share in the fishing-smack,
And nothing at all with Anna
But the shift upon her back.

Like a deer on the hill is Juliet,
High breast and proud command,
There's not a tree that's more composed
Stands on her father's land:
A lad might well surrender
To that quick and tempting eye —
With six milch-cows at pasture,
And a fine strong mare forbye.

There is not in all broad Albyn,
No, nor in the realm of France,
The like of Bell the dainty one
When she steps out to dance:
She sings to beat the thrush at morn,
Over her milking-dish,
And she has the black-faced wethers
And an eighth part of the fish.

But there's something about Anna
Like a gay, brave day in June;
Though I canna put the words to't
I could whistle't to a tune;
The king himself would cock his hat,
And stop for to admire,
Even if she were a gipsy lass
By a roadside fire.

Ah! cunning man is Cameron of Drumore,
I know him well!
It's the best bird of the clecking
He would keep last for himsel':
Two-thirds of Patrick's family
I would not have in gift;
When he brings them to the market,
I'll have Anna in her shift!