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Tom breathed, ere they began to fight,
To heaven a prayer, for love a sigh!
While clouds of smoke obstruct the view
And sighs, in death, Sweet Poll adieu.
To Poll-Ah me! 'twas sad to see;
A frantic wanderer is she.
Where fancy paints her love so true,
He faintly sighed:-Sweet Poll, adieu.
THE WORN OUT TAR.
And crowds from shore with joy did hail her:
When each sweet lass would see her sailor How gallantly she ploughs her way,
To England's shore returning back;
Except the heart of honest Jack.
His cheek had lost its manly hue;
When big with hope, his fancy grew.
In his loved country's cause, as warm
To face the foe or brave the storm.
HOW HAPPY IS THE SAILOR'S LIFE.
From coast to coast to roam;
He loves to range,
To friend or foe;
No, masters, no;
He loves to range, &c. If saucy foes dare make a noise,
And to the sword appeal,
We know no craft,
But fore and aft
Then if they're stout,
For t’other bout,
We know no craft, &c. Or fair or foul let fortune blow,
Our hearts are never dull;
For if so be,
We want, d'ye see,
For if so be, &c.
THE SAILOR'S NOTION.
When losing, by accident, t'other
The duty friends owe to each other;
I'll tell ye dear messmates, my notion,
song, Were not we jolly tars from the ocean, So my notion is this, a true lad being dead,
Who through life acts the man we first find him, Leaving grief to the women, a tear or two shed,
'Tis to cherish the wife left behind him. Sam Tempest, you know, when he saw his Poll
weep, Thought as how as her heart was a-breaking: But scarce had the tar been three nights on the
deep, When Miss Poll her fond Sam was forsaking,
So 'tisn't the tears your fine feelings may shed, Which prove that a man does his duty, Like preaching advice, when a shipmate wants
brcad, Such fellows give all but their booty.
So my notion's this, &c. For what the world kindness and tenderness call,
Are but the false colors to pity;
But shoals to betray the unwitty.
Should be mellow'd by age to prove steadv;
To serve you he'll ever prove ready,
Who through life, &c.
THE FORECASTLE SAILOR. The wind blew a blast from the northward,
When we steered from the Cape of Good Hope, The sky looked quite pitchy and wayward,
And the sea o'er our weather bow broke. The boatswain piped all hands to bail her,
And I came down the back stay so glib;
You may see by the cut of my jib.
Plump to me, as I landed on deck,
For the Guardian must quick go to wreck; Well, well, we sha'n't live to bewail her,
Cried I, and I patted his rib;
If I don't, the gale shiver my jib.
When 'bout two leagues to leeward we spied, An island of ice like a tower,
And on it our ship quickly hied; But now 'twas no use for to bail her,
The water gained on her so glib;
Waited for to shiver his jib.
While some on the vessel's deck stood,
If I sail from my captain so good. Now Providence helped us to bail her,
And we managed to patch up her rib; Safe arrived is each true hearted sailor,
To rig up his weather beat jib.
The darling of our crew;
For death has broach'd him too;
His heart was kind and soft;
And now he's gone aloft.
His virtues were so rare;
His Poll was kind and fair.
Ah! many's the time, and oft!
For Tom is gone aloft.
When He who all commands,
The word to pipe all hands.
In vain 'Tom's life has doffd,
His soul is gone aloft.
And the foe for mercy call,
Rode upon the vengeful ball;.
Saw the sun of morning bright Ah! condemn’d by cruel fortune,
Ne'er to see the star of night.