Part 7

A loaf for her at Stirling, A scone at Carlisle, Honeyed cakes at Edinbro'-- That shall make her smile.

At Aberdeen clear cider, Mead for her at Nairn, A cup of wine at John o' Groats-- That shall please my bairn.

Sing baloo loo for Jenny, Mother will be fain To see her little truant child Riding home again.

HAWK AND BUCKLE.

Where is the landlord of old Hawk and Buckle, And what of Master Straddler this hot summer weather? He's along in the tap-room with broad cheeks a-chuckle, And ten bold companions all drinking together.

Where is the daughter of old Hawk and Buckle, And what of Mistress Jenny this hot summer weather? She sits in the parlour with smell of honeysuckle, Trimming her bonnet with red ostrich feather.

Where is the ostler of old Hawk and Buckle, And what of Willy Jakeman this hot summer weather? He is rubbing his eyes with a slow and lazy knuckle As he wakes from his nap on a bank of fresh heather.

Where is the page boy of old Hawk and Buckle, And what of our young Charlie this hot summer weather? He is bobbing for tiddlers in a little trickle-truckle, With his line and his hook and his breeches of leather.

Where is the grey goat of old Hawk and Buckle, And what of pretty Nanny this hot summer weather? She stays not contented with little or with muckle, Straining for daisies at the end of her tether.

For this is our motto at old Hawk and Buckle, We cling to it close and we sing all together, "Every man for himself at our old Hawk and Buckle, And devil take the hindmost this hot summer weather."

THE "ALICE JEAN".

One moonlit night a ship drove in, A ghost ship from the west, Drifting with bare mast and lone tiller, Like a mermaid drest In long green weed and barnacles: She beached and came to rest.

All the watchers of the coast Flocked to view the sight, Men and women streaming down Through the summer night, Found her standing tall and ragged Beached in the moonlight.

Then one old woman looked and wept "The 'Alice Jean'? But no! The ship that took my Dick from me Sixty years ago Drifted back from the utmost west With the ocean's flow?

"Caught and caged in the weedy pool Beyond the western brink, Where crewless vessels lie and rot in waters black as ink. Torn out again by a sudden storm Is it the 'Jean', you think?"

A hundred women stared agape, The menfolk nudged and laughed, But none could find a likelier story For the strange craft. With fear and death and desolation Rigged fore and aft.

The blind ship came forgotten home To all but one of these Of whom none dared to climb aboard her: And by and by the breeze Sprang to a storm and the "Alice Jean" Foundered in frothy seas.

THE CUPBOARD.

Mother

What's in that cupboard, Mary?

Mary

Which cupboard, mother dear?

Mother

The cupboard of red mahogany With handles shining clear.

Mary

That cupboard, dearest mother, With shining crystal handles? There's nought inside but rags and jags And yellow tallow candles.

Mother

What's in that cupboard, Mary?