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...SUFFERED UNDER PONTIUS PILATE, WAS CRUCIFIED, DEAD, AND BURIED by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER HYMN OF THE CITY by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE CREMATION OF SAM MCGEE by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE LINES WITH A WEDDING PRESENT by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD SONNET: MAN VERSUS ASCETIC. 4 by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |