And picking his pocket with infinite grace.
And 'Walth and prosparity,' 'Walth and prosparity,'
His bonny Scotch burthen arose on the air,
To a song all in praise of that primitive charity,
Which begins with sweet home and which terminates there.
But sudden a tumult arose from a distance,
And in rushed a rabble with steel and with stone,
And ere the scared miller could call for assistance,
The mill to a million of atoms was blown.
Scarce mounted the fragments in ether to hurtle,