Roses white, roses red,
Roses in the lane,
Tell me, roses red and white,
Where is Meenie gane?
Well, now, supposing you are far away up on Ben Clebrig's slopes, a gun over your shoulder, and idly looking out for a white hare or a ptarmigan, if you take to humming these careless rhymes to some such tune as 'Cherry Ripe,' who is to hinder? The strongest of all the south winds cannot carry the tidings to Glengask nor yet to Orosay's shores. And so the whole country-side—every hill and stream and wood and rock—came to be associated with Meenie, and saturated with the praise and glory of her. Why, he made the very mountains fight about her!
Ben Loyal spake to Ben Clebrig,
And they thundered their note of war:
'You look down on your sheep and your sheepfolds;
I see the ocean afar.
'You look down on the huts and the hamlets,