Or hawk at flies elsewhere, concerns us not to know. }
}
Southwards you may be sure they bent their flight, }
And harboured in a hollow rock at night; }
Next morn they rose, and set up every sail;
The wind was fair, but blew a mackrel gale;
The sickly young sat shivering on the shore,
Abhorred salt-water never seen before.
And prayed their tender mothers to delay
The passage, and expect a fairer day.