Poetry Archives

Sing baloo loo for Jenny
  And where is she gone?
Away to spy her mother’s land,
  Riding all alone.

To the rich towns of Scotland,
  The woods and the streams,
High upon a Spanish horse
  Saddled for her dreams.

By Oxford and by Chester,
  To Berwick-on-the-Tweed,
Then once across the borderland
  She shall find no need.

A loaf for her at Stirling,
  A scone at Carlisle,
Honeyed cakes at Edinbro’—
  That shall make her smile.

At Aberdeen clear cider,
  Mead for her at Nairn,
A cup of wine at John o’ Groats—
  That shall please my bairn.

Sing baloo loo for Jenny,
  Mother will be fain
To see her little truant child
  Riding home again.