7
It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie;
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee!
We are na fou, &c.
Wha first shall rise to gang awa,
A cuckold, coward loun is he!
Wha first beside his chair shall fa',
He is the king amang us three!
We are na fou, &c.
The Galley Slave.
Oh, think on my fate! once I freedom enjoy d,
Was as happy as happy could be,
But pleasure is fled! even hope is destroy'd,
A captive, alas! on the sea.
I was ta'en by the foe, 'twas the flat of fate
To tear me from her I adore,
But thought brings to mind my once happy state,
I sigh, while I tug at the oar.
Hard, hard is my fate! oh, how galling my chain,
My life's steer'd by misery's chart;
And though 'gainst my tyrants I scorn to complain,
Tears gush forth to ease my full heart.
I disdain e'en to shrink, though I feel the sharp lash,
Yet my breast bleeds for her I adore,
While around me the unfeeling billows will dash,
I sigh! and still tug at the oar.
How fortune deceives—I had pleasure in tow,
