Up the side so steep of the canon deep the poor
old critter sped,
And the devil's limb ran after him, till they
faded overhead.
Now, the spot of ground where our luck was
found, was a queerish place, you'll mark,
Jest under the jags of the mountain crags and
the precipices dark,
Far up on high, close to the sky, the two crags
leant together,