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From the main-deck to the quarter,

Strew'd with limbs, and wet with blood, Poor Tom Halliard, pale and wounded,

Crawl'd where his brave captain stood. “ O my noble captain, tell me,

Ere I'm borne a corpse away; Have I done a sean.an's duty,

On this great, this glorious day? “ Tell a dying sailor truly,

For my life is fleeting fast, Have I done a sailor's duty,

Can they aught my mem’ry blast?” “ Ah! brave Tom,” replied the captain,

“ Thou a sailor's part hast done, I revere thy wounds with sorrow

Wounds by which our glory's won.” “ Thanks, my captain, life is ebbing

Fast from this deep wounded heart, Yet, O! grant me little favor

Ere I from this world depart: Bid some kind and trusty sailor,

When I'm number'd with the dead, For my true and constant Cath’rine,

Cui a lock from this poor head. “ Bid him to my Cath’rine bear it,

Saying, her’s alone I die;
Kate will keep the mournful present,

And embalm it with a sigh.
Bid him, too, this letter bear her,

Which I've penn'd with parting breath, Kate will ponder on the writing,

When the hand is cold in death."
That I will,” replied the captain,
“ And be ever Cath'rine's friend;'S

“ Thanks, my good, my great commander

Now my pains, my sorrows end.” Mute towards the captain weeping,

Tom upraised a thankful eye; Grateful then his feet embracing,

Sunk with “ Kate" on his last sigh. Who, that saw a scene so mournful,

Could without a tear depart?
He must own a savage nature,

Pity never warm’d his heart.
Now in his white hammock shrouded,

By the kind and pensive crew;
As they dropp'd him in the ocean,

All sigh'd out “ Poor Tom, adieu.”

Thou art gone from thy lover,

Thou lord of the sea!
The illusion is over

That bound me to thee;
I cannot regret thee,

Tho' dearest thou wert,
Nor can I forget thee,

Thou lord of my heart.
I lov'd thee too dearly

To hate thee and live,
I am blind to the brightest

My country can give;
But I cannot behold thee

In plunder and gore,
And thy Minna can fold thee

In fondness no


Far over the billow

Thy black vessel rides;

The wave is thy pillow,

Thy pathway the tides;
Thy cannons are pointed,

Thy red flag on high,
Thy crew are undaunted,

But yet thou must die.
I thought thou wert brave,

As the sea kings of old;
But thy heart is a slave

And a victim to gold.
My faith can be plighted

To none but the free;
Thy low heart has blighted

My fond hopes in thee.
I will not upbraid thee;

I leave thee to bear
The shame thou hast made thee,

Its danger and care:
As thy banner is streaming

Far over the sea,
0! my fond heart is dreaming

And breaking for thee.
My heart thou hast broken,

Thou lord of the wave!
Thou hast left me a token,

To rest in my grave:
Tho' false, mean and cruel,

Thou still must be dear,
And thy name, like a jewel.

Be treasured up here.

HARRY BLUFF. When a boy, Harry Bluff left his friends and his

home, And his dear native land, o'er the ocean to roam;

Like a sapling he sprung, he was fair to the view,
He was true Yankee oak, boys, the older he grew.
Tho' his body was weak, and his hands they were soft,
When the signal was giv'n, he the first went aloft;
The veterans all cry'd, he'll one day lead the van,
For tho’rated a boy, he'd the soul of a man,

And the heart of a true Yankee sailor.
When to manhood promoted and burning for fame,
Still in peace or in war, Harry Bluff was the same,
So true to his love, and in battle so brave,
The myrtle and laurel entwiu'd o'er his grave.
For his country he fell, when by victory crown'd,
The flag shot away, fell in tatters around,
The foe thought he'd struck, but he sung out avast!
And Columbia's colors he nail'd to the mast,

And died like a true Yankee sailor.

LET him who sighs in sadness here,
Rejoice and know a friend is near;
What heav'nly sounds are those I hear?
What being comes the gloom to cheer?
When in the storm on Albion's coast,
The night-watch guards his weary post,

From thoughts of danger free;
He marks some vessel's dusky form,
And hears, amid the howling storm,

The minute gun at sea.
Swift on the shore a hardy few,
The life-coat man, with a gallant, gallant crew,

And dare the dang’rous wave;
Through the wild surf they cleave their way,
Lost in the foam, nor know dismay,

For they go the crew to save.

But oh, what rapture fills each breast,
of the hapless crew of the ship distress’d!
Then landed safe, what joys to tell,
Of all the dangers that befell.
Then is heard no more,
By the watch on the shore,
The minute gun at sea.


TUNE— Landlady of France.'
It oft-times has been told

That the British seamen bold,
Could flog the tars of France so neat and handy 0;

But they never found their match,

Till the Yankees did them catch,
Oh! the Yankee boys for fighting are the dandy 0.

The Guerriere, a frigate bold,

On the foaming ocean roll’d, Commanded by proud Dacres, the grandee 0;

With choice of British crew,

As a rammer ever drew, They could flog the Frenchmen two to one so handy O.

When this frigate bore in view,

Says proud Dacres to his crew,
Come clear the ship for action and be handy 0;

To the weather-gage boys get her,

And to make his men fight better, Gave them to drink, gunpowder, mixed with brandy 0.

Then Dacres loudly cries,

Make this Yankee ship your prize, You can in thirty minutes, neat and handy 0;

Thirty-five's enough I'm sure,

And if you'll do it in a score,
I'll treat you to a double share of brandy O.

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