March to the Battle Field (n.d., Edinburgh)/The Polacca

by Anonymous

THE POLACCA.

 

No more by sorrow chas'd my heart
 Shall yield to fell despair;
Now joys repel the envenom'd dart,
 And conquers ev'ry care.

So in our woods the hunted boar,
 On native strength relies;
The forest echoes with his roar,
 In turn the hunter flies.

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