The White Rose Over the Water

The old men sat with hats pulled down,
Their claret cups before them:
Broad shadows hid their sullen eyes.
The tavern lamps shone o'er them,
As a brimming bowl, with crystal fill'd.
Came borne by the landlord's daughter,
Who wore in her bosom the fair white rose.
That grew best over the water.

Then all leap'd up, and join'd their hands
With hearty' clasp and greeting,
The brimming cups, outstretched by all,
Over the wide bowl meeting.
"A health," they cried, "to the witching eyes
Of Kate, the landlord's daughter!
But don't forget the white, white.rose
That grows best over the water"

Each other's cups they touch'd all round,
The last red drop outpouring;
Then with a cry that warmed the blood,
One heart-born chorus roaring —
" Let the glass go round, to pretty Kate,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter.
But never forget the white, white rose
That grows best over the water."

Then hats flew up and swords sprang out,
And lusty rang the chorus —
"Never," they cried," while Scots are Scots
And the broad Frith's before us."
A ruby ring the glasses shine
As they toast the landlord's daughter.
Because she wore the white, white rose
That grew best over the water.

A poet cried, " Our thistle's brave,
With all its stings and prickles;
The shamrock with its holy leaf
Is spar'd by Irish sickles.
But bumpers round, for what are these
To Kate, the landlord's daughter.
Who wears at her bosom the rose as white
That grows best over the water?"

They dash'd the glasses at the wall,
No lip might touch them after;
The toast had sanctified the cups
That smashed against the rafter;
Their chairs thrown back, they up again
To toast the landlord's daughter.
But never forgot the white, white rose
That grew best over the water.