 | The lay of the Scottish fiddle : a tale of Havre de Grace |  |
IV.
Now swift around his order flew,To muster all the valiant crew,
Who, save the centinels, that slow,
Pac'd o'er the deckward to and fro,
Were fast asleep in birth below.
Rous'd every soul and rubb'd his eyes,
In hope to see a gallant prize;
Some noble coaster of the bay,
Laden with oysters or new hay.
Childe Cockburn with an out-strech'd hand,
Deliver'd thus his high command.
| The lay of the Scottish fiddle : a tale of Havre de Grace | |