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Home  »  library  »  Song  »  George Walter Thornbury (1828–1876)

C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

George Walter Thornbury (1828–1876)

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 filled,

Came borne by the landlord’s daughter,

Who wore in her bosom the fair white rose

That grew best over the water.

Then all leaped up, and joined 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 touched 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 spared 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 dashed 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.