38
Sirens in every port we meet,
more fell than rocks or waves ;
But Sailors of the British fleet
are lovers, and not ſlaves:
No foes our courage ſhall ſubdue,
Altho' we've left our hearts with you.
Theſe are our cares, but if you're kind,
we'll ſcorn the daſhing main,
The rocks. the billows and the wind,
the powers of France and Spain.
Now Britain's glory reſts with you,
Our ſails are full-ſweet girls adieu.
MARY OF GLENKILLOCH.
WILL ye go to Glenkilloch, Mary,
where the burnie fa's owre the linn?
Its murmurs are dearer to me, Mary,
when borne on the faſt breathing win'.
The ſun ſheds his beams, my Mary.
on the white bloſſom'd Hawthorn tree ;
But his beams are nought to me, Mary,
compar'd with thy love-glancing e'e.
The woodlark ſings ſweet my Mary,
at eve, in me green leafy grove;
But his ſtains are ſtill ſweeter. my Mary,
when with thee I joyfully rove
