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5
To Indies, east and west, I sail'd,
The line I cross'd o'er and oʻer,
Ere on my native beach I hail‘d,
My Pretty Poll on shore.
We jiggʻd it at a merry dance,
And both dislik'd to part,
My timbers stout may start by chance,
But English oak my heart.
Then let but fortune cheerly smile,
And hand me gold galore,
Why, all the sum of all my toil,
Is pretty Poll on shore.
HILLS OF GALLOWA.
Amang the birks sae blythe and gay,
I met my Julia hameward gaun;
The linties chantit on the spray,
The lammies lowpit on the lawn;
On ilka swaird the hay was mawn,
The braes wi' gowans buskit braw;
And gloamin's plaid o' grey was thrawn,
Out o'er the hills of Gallowa.
Wi' music wild the woodlands rang,
And fragrance winged alang the lee,
