(Air—Jessy of Dunblayne.)
As lonely I sat on a calm summer morning,
To breathe the soft incense that flowed on the wind,
I mus’d on my Boots in their bright beauty dawning,
By Warren’s Jet Blacking—the pride of mankind.
On a maple-tree near sat a turtle bewailing,
With sorrowful cooings, the loss of her love;
Each note that she utter’d seemed sadness exhaling,
And plaintively echo’d around the still grove.
When, lo! in my Boots, the lone mourner perceiv’d