He's Going Bodmin!

Cairns of stones mirrored the way,
by fields of wild grass, and trees, and hay,
and horses so wild that they scatter on sight,
of all those who approach be it day or night.

Where's our Joe then,
old Jack did shout,
Oh he's gone Bodmin,
he 's gone right out.

With Fowey of the upland high,
silhouetted up against the sky,
and scattered ruins of old tin mines,
the remnants of our oldest times.

Where's our Lucy then,
old Jack did shout,
oh she's gone Bodmin,
she's gone right out.

A tin mine there in the fields,
ruins of all at once reveals,
like some castle in the flowing rain,
a remnant of what was once so plain.

Where's our Pete then,
old Jack did say,
oh he's gone Bodmin,
he's gone right out.

The river Tiddy "ogged" it's way,
round by Lynher in it's sway,
and flowing close to Tamar too,
while Camel passed the gentle few.

Where's our Kate then,
old Jack did shout,
oh she's gone Bodmin,
she's gone right out.

So river Warleggan was there as well,
flowing steady and full of swell,
and river Inny crossed beyond,
by the moors of which we are so fond.

Where's old Ned then,
old Jack did shout,
oh he's gone Bodmin,
he's gone right out.

With grey stone walls so dryly laid,
and a little cottage in which we stayed,
the granite Tors that wave to the peak,
as crossing fields wild beauty we seek.

I think I'm away then,
Old Jack did shout,
I'm going Bodmin,
but everyone was out.