While thus, in bold and honest guise,
For wisdom moved his tongue,
Drawing from reason, comfort's drop,
In truth and fair reflection wise,
Right cheerfully sung

Little Ben that kept his watch in the main-top.

Why should the hardy tar complain ?

'Tis certain true he weathers more,
From dangers on the roaring main,
Than lazy lubbers do ashore.
Ne'er let the noble mind despair,

Though roaring seas run mountains high;
All things are built with equal care,

First-rate, or wherry, man, or fly.

If there's a Power that never errs,

And certainly 'tis so

For honest hearts what comforts drop

As well as kings and emperors,

Why not take in tow

Little Ben that keeps his watch in the main-top?

What though to distant climes I roam,

Far from my darling Nancy's charins, The sweeter is my welcome home,

To blissful moorings in her arms.
Perhaps she on that sober moon

A lover's observation takes,
And longs that little Ben may soon
Relieve that heart which sorely aches.
Ne'er fear; that power that never errs,
That guards all things below-

For honest hearts what comforts drop-
As well as kings and emperors,

Will surely take in tow

Little Ben that keeps his watch in the main-top.

THE SAILOR'S MAXIM.

Or us tars 'tis reported again and again,

That we sail round the world, yet know nothing of men;
And, if this assertion is made with a view

To prove sailors know naught of men's follies, 'tis true.
How should Jack practise treachery, disguise, or foul art,
In whose honest face you may read his fair heart?
Of that maxim still ready example to give,
Better death earned with honor than ignobly to live.

How can he wholesome Truth's admonitions defy,
On whose manly brow never sat a foul lie?
Of the fair-born protector, how Virtue offend?
To a foe how be cruel? how ruin a friend?
If danger he risk in professional strife,

There his honor is safe, though he venture his life;
Of that maxim still ready example to give,
Better death carned with honor than ignobly to live.
But to put it at worst, from fair truth could he swerve,
And betray the kind friend he pretended to serve,
While snares laid with craft his fair honor trepan,
Man betray him to error, himself but a man:
Should repentance and shame to his aid come too late,
Wonder not if in battle he rush on his fate;
Of that maxim stlll ready example to give.

Better death earned with honor than ignobly to live.

THE ANCHOR APEAK.

I BE one of they sailors who think 'tis no lie,
That for every wherefore of life there's a why,
That fortune's strange weather, a calm or a squall,
Our berths, good or bad, are chalked out for us all;
That the stays and the braces of life will be found
To be some of 'em rotten, and some of 'em sound;
That the good we should cherish, the bad never seek,
For death will too soon bring each anchor apeak.
When astride on the yard the top-lifts they let go,
And I comed, like a shot, plump among 'em below,
Why I cotched at a halliard, and jumped upon deck,
And so broke my fall to save breaking my neck;
Just like your philosophers, for all their jaw,
Who less than a rope gladly catch at a straw;
Thus the good we should cherish, the bad never seek,
For death will too soon bring each anchor apeak.

Why, now, that there cruise that we made off the Banks, Where I peppered the foe, and got shot for my thanks, What then? She scon struck; and though crippled on shore,

And laid up to refit, I had shiners galore,

At length live and looking I tried the false main,
And to get more prize-money got shot at again;
Thus the good we should cherish, the bad never seek.
For death will too soon bring each anchor apeak.
Then just as it comes take the bad with the good;
One man's spoon's made of silver, another's of wood;
What's poison for one man's another man's balm,
Some are safe in a storm, and some lost in a calm;
Some are rolling in riches, some not worth a sous,
To-day we eat beef, and to-morrow lobs-scouse;
Thus the good we should cherish, the bad never seek
For death will too soon bring each anchor apeak

My safety thy fair truth shall be,

As sword and buckler serving, My life shall be more dear to me, Because of thy preserving; Let perils come, let horror threat, Let thund'ring cannons rattle, I'll fearless seek the conflict's heat, Assured, when on the wings of love, To heaven above, &c. Enough; with that benignant smile Some kindred god inspired thee, Who knew thy bosom void of guile, Who wondered, and admired thee;

I go assured, my life, adieu!

Though thund'ring cannons rattle, Though murd'ring carnage stalk in view, When, on the wings of thy true love, To heaven above, &c.

SOLDIER DICK.

WHY, don't you know me by my scars?
I'm soldier Dick, come from the wars;
Where many a head without a hat
Crowds honor's bed-but what of that?
Beat drums, play fifes, 'tis glory calls,
What argufies who stands or falls?
Lord, what should one be sorry for ?
Life's but the fortune of the war:
Then rich or poor, or well or sick,
Still laugh and sing shall so dier Dick.
I used to look two ways at once-

A bullet hit me on the sconce,

And dowsed my glim: d'ye think I'd wmcc
Why, Lord, I've never squinted since.
Beat drums, &c.

Some distant keep from war's alarms,
For fear of wooden legs and arms,
While others die sate in their beds
Who all their lives had wooden heads.
Beat drums, &c.

Thus gout or fever, sword or shot,
Or something-sends us all to pot:
That we're to die, then, do not grieve,
But let's be merry while we live.
Beat drums, &c.

THE TAR FOR ALL WEATHERS.

I SAILED from the Downs in the Nancy,
My jib how she smacked through the breeze!
She's a vessel as tight to my fancy

As ever sailed on the salt seas.

So adieu to the white cliffs of Dover,
Our girls, and our dear native shore!
For if some hard rock we should split on,
We shall never see them any more.
But sailors were born for all weathers,
Great guns let it blow high or low,
Our duty keeps us to our tethers,

And where the gale drives we must go.

When we entered the Gut of Gibraltar,
I verily thought she'd have sunk,
For the wind so began for to alter,

She yaw'd just as thof she was drunk.
The squall tore the mainsail to shivers,

Helm a-wether the hoarse boatswain cries:
Brace the foresail athwart; see she quivers,
As through the rough tempest she flies.
But sailors, &c.

The storm came on thicker and faster,
As black just as pitch was the sky,

When truly a doleful disaster

Befell three poor sailors and I.

Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail,
By a blast that came furious and hard,

Just while we were furling the mainsail,
Were every soul swept from the yard.
But sailors, &c.

Poor Ben, Sam, and Dick cried peccavi;
As for I, at the risk of my neck,

While they sank down in peace to old Davy,
Caught a rope and so landed on deck.

Well what would you have? We were stranded,
And out of a fine jolly crew

Of three hundred that sailed, never landed
But I and, I think, twenty-two.

But sailors, &c.

After thus we at sea had miscarried,
Another guess way set the wind,
For homeward I came, and got married
To a lass that was comely and kind.
But whether for joy or vexation,

We know not for what we were bora · Perhaps I may find a kind station, Perhaps I may touch at Cape Horn. For sailors, &c.

HAPPY JERRY.

I WAS the pride of all the Thames,
My name was natty Jerry,

The best of smarts and flashy dames
I've carried in my wherry:

For then no mortal soul like me
So merrily did jog it;

I loved my wife and friend, d'ye see,
And won the prize of Doggett :

'n coat and badge, so neat and spruce,
I rowed, all blithe and merry,

And every waterman did use

To call me happy Jerry.

But times soon changed-I went to sea,
My wife and friend betrayed me,
And in my absence treacherously
Some pretty frolics played me:
Returned, I used them like a man,
But still, 'twas so provoking,

I never could enjoy the can,

Nor even fancy smoking;

In tarnished badge, and coat so queer,
No longer blithe and merry,

Old friends now passed me with a sneer,
And called me Dismal Jerr;

At sea, as with a dangerous wound,
I lay under the surgeons,

Two friends each help I wanted found
In every emergence:

Soon after my sweet friend and wife
Into this mess had brought me,
These two kind friends who saved my life,
In my misfortune sought me :
We're come, cried they, that once again
In coat and badge so inerry,
Your kind old friends, the watermen,
May hail you Happy Jerry.

I'm Peggy, once your soul's desire,
To whom you proved a rover,
Who since that time, in man's attire,
Have sought you the world over:
And I, cried t'other, am that Jack,
When boys, you used so badly,
Though now the best friend to your back-
Then prithee look not sadly.

Few words are be t: I seized their hands,
My grateful heart grew merry-
And now in love and friendship's bands
I'm once more Happy Jerry.

Let cannons roar loud, burst their sides let the bombs,
Let the winds a dread hurricane rattle;
The rough and the pleasant he takes as it comes,
And laughs at the storm and the battle.

In a fostering Power while Jack puts his trust,
As Fortune comes, smiling he'll hail her;
Resigned, still, and manly-since what must be must-
And this is the mind of a sailor.

Though careless and headlong, if danger should press,
And ranked 'mongst the free list of rovers,
Yet he'll melt into tears at a tale of distress,
And prove the most constant of lovers.

To rancor unknown, to no passion a slave,
Nor unmanly, nor mean, nor a railer,
He's gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave-
And this is a true hearted sailor.

GREAVING'S A FOLLY.

SPANKING Jack was so comely, so pleasant, so jolly,
Though winds blew great guns, still he'd whistle and sing,
For Jack loved his friend, and was true to his Molly,
And, if honor gives greatness, was great as a king.
One night as we drove with two reefs in the main-sail,
And the scud came on low'ring upon a lee-shore,
Jack went up aloft for to hand the top-g'ant-sail-
A spray washed him off, and we ne'er saw him more :
But grieving's a folly,

Come let us be jolly;

If we've troubles on sea, boys, we've pleasures on shore.

Whiffling Tom still of mischief, or fun in the middle,
Through life in all weathers at random would jog;
He'd dance, and he'd sing, and he'd play on the fiddle,
And swig with an air his allowance of grog:
Longside of a Don, in the Terrible frigate,

As yard-arm and yard-arm we lay off the shore,
In and out whiffling Tom did so caper and jig it,

That his head was shot off, and we ne'er saw him more:
But grieving's a folly, &c.

Bonny Ben was to each jolly messmate a brother,
He was manly and honest, good-natured and free;

If ever one tar was more true than another

To his friend and his duty, that sailor was he:
One day with the davit to weigh the kedge-anchor,
Ben went in the boat on a bold craggy shore-
He overboard tipped, when a shark and a spanker
Soon nipped him in two, and we ne'er saw him more:
But grieving's a folly, &c.

But what of it all, lads? shall we be downhearted
Because that mayhap we now take our last sup?
Life's cable must one day or other be parted,

And Death in safe moorings will bring us all up:
But 'tis always the way on't-one scarce finds a brother
Fond as pitch, honest, hearty, and true to the core,
But by battle, or storm, or some damned thing or other,
He's popped off the hooks, and we ne'er see him more!
But grieving's a folly, &c.

Loud blew the wind, when, leaning on that willow Where the dear name of honest William stood, Poor Nancy saw, tossed by a faithless billow,

A ship dashed 'gainst a rock that topped the flood: Her tender heart with frantic thrilling,

Wild as the storm that howled along the shore, No longer could resist a stroke so killing

'Tis he she cried, nor shall I see him more! Why did he ever trust the fickle ocean? Sorrow's my portion,

Misery and pain! Break, my poor heart, For now we part

Never to meet again!

Mild was the eve, all nature was smiling,
Four tedious years had Nancy passed in grief,
When, with her children, the sad hours beguiling,
She saw her William fly to her relief!

Sunk in his arms with bliss he quickly found her,
But soon returned to life, to love, and joy,
While her grown young ones anxiously surround her,
And now Will clasps his girl, and now his boy,
Did I not say, though 'tis a fickle ocean,
Sorrow's all a notion,

Grief all in vain ? My joy how sweet, For now we meet Never to part again!

POOR SHIPWRECKED TAR. ESCAPED with life, in tatters,

Behold me safe ashore;
Such trifles little matters,

I'll soon get togs galore:
For Poll swore when we parted
No chance her faith should jar,
And Foll's too tender-hearted

To slight a Shipwrecked Tar.
To Poll his course straight steering,
He hastens on apace;

Poor Jack can't get a hearing

She never saw his face.

From Meg, Doll, Sue, and Kitty,
Relief is just as far,

Not one has the least pity

For a poor Shipwrecked Tar.

This, whom he thought Love's needle,
Now his sad mis'ry mocks,

That wants to call the beadle
To set him in the stocks.
Cried Jack, "This is hard dealing;
The elements at war
Than this had kinder feeling-

They spared a Shipwrecked Tar.
But all their taunts and fetches
A judgment are on me;
I, for these hardened wretches,
Dear Nancy, slighted thee.
But see, poor Tray assails me,
His mistress is not far,
He wags his tail and hails me,
Though a poor Shipwrecked Tar."
'Twas faithful love that brought him-

Oh, lesson for mankind!

""Tis one," cried she, "I taught him;
For on my constant mind
Thine image, dear, was graven ;
And now, removed each bar,
My arms shall be the haven

For my poor Shipwrecked Tar."
'Heaven and my love reward thee:
I'm shipwrecked, but I'm rich;
All shall with pride regard thee-
Thy love shall so bewitch
With wonder each fond fancy,

That children near and far

Shall lisp the name of Nancy,

Who saved her Shipwrecked Tar.”

TOM TACKLE.

TOM TACKLE was noble, was true to his word;
If merit bought titles, Tom might be my lord;
How gayly his bark through Life's ocean would sail!
Truth furnished the rigging, and Honor the gale:
Yet 'Tom had a failing, if ever man had,
That, good as he was, made him all that was bad;
He was paltry and pitiful, scurvy and mean,

And the sniv'lingest scoundrel that ever was seen;
For so said the girls and the landlords 'long shore:

Would you know what his fault was ?-Tom Tackle was poor!

'Twas once on a time when we took a galloon,

And the crew touched the agent for cash to some tune,
Tom a trip took to jail, an old messmate to free,
And four thankful prattlers soon sat on his knee.
Then Tom was an angel, downright from heaven sent!
While they'd hands he his goodness should never repent:
Returned from next voyage, he bemoaned his sad case,
To find his dear friend shut the door in his face!

"Why d'ye wonder ?" cried one, "you're served right, to be sure;

Once Tom Tackle was rich-now Tom Tackle is poor !"

I ben't you see, versed in high maxims and sich;
But don't this same honor concern poor and rich ?
If it don't come from good hearts, I can't see where from,
And hang me, if e'er tar had a good heart 'twas Tom.
Yet, somehow or 'nother, Tom never did right:
None knew better the time when to spare or to fight;
He, by finding a leak, once preserved crew and ship,
Saved the commodore's life-then he made such rare flip!
And yet for all this, no one Tom could endure;
I fancies as how 'twas-because he was poor!

At last an old shipmate, that Tom might hail land,
Who saw that his heart sailed too fast for his hand,
In the riding of comfort a mooring to find,
Reefed the sails of Tom's fortune, that shook in the wind:
He gave him enough through Life's ocean to steer,
Be the breeze what it might, steady, thus, or no near;
His pittance is daily, and yet Tom imparts

What he can to his friends-and may all honest hearts,
Like Tom Tackle, have what keeps the wolf from the

door,

Just enough to be generous-too much to be poor.

LOVELY NAN.

SWEET is the ship that, under sail,
Spreads her white bosom to the gale;
Sweet, oh! sweet the flowing can;

Sweet to poise the laboring oar,
That tugs us to our native shore

When the boatswain pipes the barge to man;
Sweet sailing with a fav'ring breeze;
But oh! much sweeter than all these,

Is Jack's delight-his lovely Nan!

The needle, faithful to the north,
To show of constancy the worth,

A curious lesson teaches man:
The needle time may rust, the squall
Capsize the binnacle and all,

Let seamanship do all it can;
My love in worth shall higher rise,
Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize
My faith and truth to lovely Nan.
When in the bilboes I was penned,
For serving of a worthless friend,
And every creature from me ran;
No ship performing quarantine
Was ever so deserted seen,

None hailed me, woman, child, nor man; But though false friendship's sails were furled, Though cut adrift by all the world,

I'd all the world in lovely Nan.

I love my duty, love my friend,
Love truth and merit to defend,

To mourn their loss who hazard ran: I love to take an honest part, Love beauty, with a spotless heart,

By manners love to show the man; To sail through life by honor's breeze'Twas all along of loring these

First made me dote on lovely Nan.

TOM BOWLING.

HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling
The darling of our crew;

No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
For death has broached him to.

His form was of the manliest beauty,
His heart was kind and soft,
Faithful, below, he did his duty,
But now he's gone aloft.

Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare,

His friends were many and true-hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair:

And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,
Ah, many's the time and oft!

But mirth is turned to melancholy,

For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, When He who all commands,

Shall give, to call life's crew together,

The word to pipe all hands.

Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches,
In vain Tom's life has doffed,

For, though his body's under hatches,
His soul has gone aloft.

TRUE COURAGE.

WHY, what's that to you, if my eyes I'm a wiping?
A tear is a pleasure, d'ye see in its way;
'Tis nonsense for trifles, I own, to be piping;

But they that han't pity, why I pities they. Says the captain, says he (I shall never forget it), "If of courage you'd know, lads, the true from the sham, 'Tis a furious lion in battle, so let it,

But, duty appeased, 'tis in mercy a lamb."

There was hustling Bob Bounce, for the old one not

caring,

Helter skelter, to work, pelt away, cut and drive;
Swearing he, for his part, had no notion of sparing,
And as for a foe, why, he'd eat him alive.

But when that he found an old prisoner he'd wounded,
That once saved his life as near drowning he swam,
The lion was tamed, and, with pity confounded,
He cried over him just all as one as a lamb.

That my friend Jack or Tom I should rescue from danger,
Or lay my life down for each lad in the mess,
Is nothing at all-'tis the poor wounded stranger,
And the poorer the more I shall succor distress:
For however their duty bold tars may delight in,
A peril defy, as a bugbear, a flam,
Though the lion may feel surly Leasure in fighting,
He'll feel more by compassion when turned to a lamb.
The heart and the eyes, you see, feel the same motion,
And if both shed their drops, 'tis all to the same end;
And thus 'tis that every tight lad of the ocean
Sheds his blood for his country, his tears for his friend.
If my maxim's disease, 'tis disease I shall die on-
You may snigger and titter, I don't care a flam!
In me let the foe feel the paw of a lion,
But, the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb.

FORGING THE ANCHOR.

LIKE Ætna's dread volcano see the ample forge,
Large heaps upon large heaps of jetty fuel gorge,
While, salamander-like, the pond'rous anchor lies
Glutted with vivid fire through all its pores that flies;
The dingy anchorsmiths, to renovate their strength,
Stretched out in death-like sleep are snoring at their length,

Waiting the master's signal when the tackle's force
Shall, like split rocks, the anchor from the fire divorce;
While, as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang,

in deafening concert shall their pond'rous hammers clang, And into symmetry the mass incongruous beat,

To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant British fleet.

Now, as more vivid and intense each splinter flies,
The temper of the fire the skilful master tries;
And, as the dingy hue assumes a brilliant red,
The heated anchor feeds that fire on which it fed :
The huge sledge-hammers round in order they arrange,
And waking anchorsmiths await the looked-for change,
Longing with all their force the ardent mass to smite,
When issuing from the fire arrayed in dazzling white;
And, as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang,

To make in concert rude their pond'rous hammers clang,
So the misshapen lump to symmetry they beat,

To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant British fleet.

The preparations thicken: with forks the fire they goad;
And now twelve anchorsmiths the heaving bellows load;
While armed from every danger, and in grim array,
Anxious as howling demons waiting for their prey :
The forge the anchor yields from out its fiery maw,
Which, on the anvil prone, the cavern shouts hurraw!
And now the scorched beholders want the power to gaze,
Faint with its heat, and dazzled with its powerful rays;
While, as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang,

To forge Jove's thunderbolts, their pond'rous hammers lang;

And, till its fire's extinct, the monstrous mass they beat, To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant British fect.

LOVE ME EVERMORE.

EN either eye a lingering tear,
His love and duty well to prove,
Jack left his wife and children dear,
Impelled by honor and by love;
And as he loitered, wrapped in care,
A sapling in his hand he bore,
Curiously carved, in letters fair-

"Love me; ah, love me evermore !"

At leisure to behold his worth,

Tokens, and rings, and broken gold,
He plunged the sapling firm in earth,
And o'er and o'er his treasure told;
The letters spelt, the kindness traced,
And all affection's precious store,
Each with the favorite motto graced-
"Love me; ah, love me, evermore !"
While on this anxious task employed,
Tender remembrance all his care,
His ears are suddenly annoyed,

The boatswain's whistle cleaves the air,
Tis duty calls his nerves are braced,
He rushes to the crowded shore,
Leaving the sapling in his haste,

That bids him love for evermore.

The magic branch thus unreclaimed,
Far off at sea, no comfort near,
His thoughtless haste he loudly blamed
With many a sigh and many a tear;
Yet why act this unmanly part?

The words the precious relic bore,
Are they not marked upon my heart?

Love me; ah, love me, evermore !" Escaped from treacherous waves and winds, That three years he had feit at sea, A wondrous miracle he finds

The sapling is become a tree! A goodly head that graceful rears, Enlarged the trunk, enlarged the core! And on the rind, enlarged, appears "Love me; ah, love me, evermore!"

While gazing on the spell-like charms
Of this most wonderful of trees,

His Nancy rushes to his arms,

His children cling about his knees. Increased in love, increased in size,

Taught from the mother's tender store, Each little urchin, lisping, cries, "Love me; ah, love me, evermore!" Amazement seized the admiring crowd; "My children," cried a village seer, "These signs, though mute, declare aloud The hand of Providence is hereWhose hidden, yet whose sure decrees For those its succor who implore, Can still the tempest, level seas,

And crown true love for evermore."

HONESTY IN TATTERS.

THIS here's what I does-I d'ye see, forms a notion
That our troubles, our sorrows and strife,
Are the winds and the billows that foment the ocean,
As we work through the passage of life.

And for fear on life's sea lest the vessel should founder,
To lament, and to weep, and to wail,

Is a pop-gun that tries to outroar a nine-pounder,
All the same as a whiff in a gale.

Why now I, though hard fortune has pretty near starved me,
And my togs are all ragged and queer,

Ne'er yet gave the bag to the friend who had served me, Or caused ruined beauty a tear.

Now there t'other day, when my messmate deceived me, Stole my rhino, my chest, and our Poll,

Do you think in revenge, while their treachery grieved me, I a court-martial called ?-Not at all.

This here on the matter was my way of arg'ing'Tis true they han't left me a cross;

A vile wife and false friend though are gone by the bargain So the gain d'ye see's more than the loss:

For though fortune's a jilt, and has, &c.

The heart's all-when that's built as it should, sound and clever,

We go 'fore the wind like a fly,

But if rotten and crank, you may luff up for ever
You'll always sail in the wind's eye:

With palaver and nonsense I'm not to be paid off,
I'm adrift, let it blow then great guns,

A gale, a fresh breeze, or the old gemman's head off,
I takes life rough and smooth as it runs :
Content, though hard fortune, &c.

CONSTANCY.

THE surge hoarsely murm'ring, young Fanny's grief mock

ing,

The spray rudely dashing as salt as her tears; The ship's in the offing, perpetually rocking,

Too faithful a type of her hopes and her fears. "'Twas here," she cried out, "that Jack's vows were sc many,

Here I bitterly wept, and I bitterly weep:

Her heart-whole he swore to return to his Fanny,
Near the trembling pine that nods over the deep.

Ah! mock not my troubles, ye pitiless breakers;

Ye winds, do not thus melt my heart with alarms; He is your pride and mine, in my grief then partakers My sailor in safety waft back to my arms. They are deaf and ungrateful: these woes are too many, Here, here, will I die, where I bitterly weep; Some true lover shall write the sad fate of poor Fanny On the trembling pine that hangs over the deep. Thus, her heart sadly torn with its wild perturbation, No friend but her sorrow, no hope but her grave; Led on by her grief to the last desperation,

She ran to the cliff, and plunged into the wave. A tar saved her life-the fond tale shall please many, Who before wept her fate, now no longer shall weep: 'Twas her Jack, who, returning, had sought out his Fanny, Near the trembling pine that hangs over the deep.