Ah, ne’er such a kiss and ne’er such embrace,
’Twixt Martin and only daughter;
For the gold of the hills, and the wealth of the race,
Could not, for all, have bought her.
The Tories still flee, the seven and ten,
Pursued thru the Sauratown hills,
’Till the last is destroyed or safe in a pen,
And the lovers had a feast that fills.