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To heave the lead the Seamen sprung,
Ann to the Pilot cheerly sung,
"By the deep nine."

And bearing up to gain the port,
Some well-known object kept in view,
An abbey-tow'r, an harbour-fort,
Or beacon to the vessel true:
Whilst oft' the lead the Seamen flung,
And to the Pilot cheerly sung,
"By the mark seven."

And as the much-lov'd shore we near,
With transport we behold the roof
Where dwells a friend, or partner dear,
Of faith or love a matchless proof:
The lead once more the Seamen flung,
And to the watchful Pilot sung,
"Quarter less five."

Now to her birth the Ship draws nigh,
We take in sail, she feels the tide;
"Stand clear the cable,"is the cry,
The anchor's gone—we safely ride:
The watch is set, and through the night
We hear the Seamen with delight
Proclaim—"All's well."

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The Flower of Dunblane.

The sun has gane o'er the lofty Benlomond,
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,
While lanely I stray in the calm simmer gloaming
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flow'r o'Dunblane.