Thrice vanquished on Midlothian's plain;
Then, scorning any longer stay,
Embarks, lifts sail, and bears away.
Merrily, merrily bounds the bark,
She bounds before the gale;
The "flowing tide" is with her. Hark!
How joyous in her sail
Flutters the breeze like laughter hoarse!
The cords and canvas strain,
The waves divided by her force