And carelessly pointing to those below
The way the wild winds in the cloud regions blow;
And the gay, pure flag, with its tri-colors bright,
Is floating now in the morning light;
But around the bright scarlet, that was once its edge,
Is a border of flowers ’bove the rocky ledge;
’Tis England’s emblem, the roses bright,
And Scotia’s thistle, pale, green, and white;
The shamrock, that Erin’s children love,
And the iris and fuchsia that droop above.