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THE HERO COMES.
He comes, the hero comes,
Sound, sound your trumpets; beat, beat your drums
From port to port let cannons roar,
He's welcome to the British shore,
Welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome,
Welcome to the British shore.
Prepare, prepare, your song prepare,
Loudly, loudly, rend the echoing air;
From pole, to pole your joys resound,
For virtue is with glory crown‘d.
Virtue, virtue, virtue, virtue,
Virtue is with glory crown‘d.
TWEED SIDE,
What beauties does Flora disclose,
How sweet are her smiles upon tweed,
Yet Mary's still sweeter than those,
Both nature and fancy exceed.
No daisy nor sweet blushing rose.
Nor all the gay flow'rs of the field,
Nor tweed gliding gently thro' those,
Such beauty and pleasure does yield.
