Seek up and down, both fair and brown, We've purty lasses many, O; But brown or fair, one girl most rare, The Flow'r o' Belashanny, O. As straight is she as poplar-tree (Tho' not as aisy shaken, O,)...
A wild west Coast, a little Town, Where little Folk go up and down, Tides flow and winds blow: Night and Tempest and the Sea, Human Will and Human Fate: What is little, what is great?...