20
March on, march on to the brazen trumpet's sound!
How quickly in battle array
Each brave Highland chief assembles his men,
And they march to the bagpipe to gay
Here's success, &c.
———
MY OWN BLUE BELL.
My own blue bell, my pretty blue bell,
I never will rove where roses dwell;
My wings you view of your own bright hue,
And, oh! never doubt that my heart's true blue.
Thought oft, I own, I've foolishly flown,
To peep at each bud that was nearly blown,
I now have done with folly and fun,
For there's nothing like constancy under the sun.
My own blue bell, &c.
Some Belles are blues, invoking the Muse
And talking of vast intellectual views:
Their crow-quills' tip in the ink they dip,
And they prate with the lore of learned lip.
Blue Bellow like them, may be wise they please,
But I love my blue bell that bends in the breeze;
Pride passes her by, but she charms my eye,
With a tint that resembles the cloudless sky.
My own bell, &c.
———
THE BAY OF BISCAY O!
Loud roar'd the dreadful thunder!
The rain a deluge showers!
The clouds were rent asunder
By lightning's vivid powers!
The night both drear and dark,
Our poor devoted bark,
Till next day,
There she lay,
In the Bay of Biscay O!
Now dash'd upon the billow,
Our opening timbers creak;
