He would hoist all her canvas on Victory's tack,
Kind Heaven crowd it fuller when wafting him back
To his home in far Hawarden, where hearts will rejoice
To welcome McGladstone, the Chief of our choice.
Midlothian no more! 'Tis a sorrowful cry,
And we gaze on the waves, and we glance at the sky;
We shall long, when clouds darken and wild waves o'erwhelm,
For his voice through the gale, for his hand on the helm.
Now we shout through the shadows, with tears in our voice:
Farewell to McGladstone, great Chief of our choice!