Old Mylecharane liv'd up on the broo,

Where Jurby slopes down to the wold,

His croft was all golden with cushag and furze,

His daughter was fair to behold.

"O father, they say you've plenty of store,

But hidden all out of the way.

No gold shall I see, but its glint on the gorse;

Then what have you done with it, pray?"

"My gold is locked up in a coffer of oak,

Which I dropped in the tide and it sank,

And there it lies fixed like an anchor of hope,

All bright and as safe as the bank."