CAN WEALTH OR FRIENDS. And can thy promise to be mine If pity in thy bosom dwell, My fears, my gentle fears dispel, For my life would waste in grief, sweet maid! Forget me not, my lovely maid. How oft to meet thee in the grove, When every word and look was love, Thou bad'st me thy fond vows believe, And can'st me thy fond vows deceive, For my life would waste in grief, sweet maid! LULLABY. Peaceful slumb'ring on the ocean, Is the wind tempestuous blowing, The guileless heart its boon bestowing, THE SAILOR'S CREED. I'll tell you, my hearties, a sailor's plain creed, Guides the helm, and directs every battle: What has that honest fellow to fear or to dread, Who's as ready to pardon as willing to fight. When, broadside to broadside we fiercely engage, And the death dealing balls whiz around, You'd think, by observing our lion like rage, That humanity's bulk was aground, But, your colours once struck, you'd be otherwise thinking; Jack's creed then gives heartfelt relief; He believes 'tis his duty to save them from sinking, And be as ready to succour as willing to fight. But the creed of a sailor still farther extends; He believes 'tis his duty likewise, To comfort his poor distressed messmates and friends, And the girl that's faithful to his prize. Thus manliness, merit, true friendship and love, All in that gallant sailors unite, Who while doing duty below or above, Are as ready to pardon as willing to fight. BRITONS, UNITED, MUST PREVAIL. My children those whom I command, For treasure, I've my seaman's love, To venture forth, he may soon prove, MARY, I BELIEVED THEE TRUE. Mary, I believed thee true, And was blest in thus believing; And now I mourn that e'er I knew A girl so fair and so deceiving. Few have ever loved like me: Oh! I have loved thee too sincerely! And few have e'er deceived like thee, Alas! deceived me too severely. Fare thee well! yet think awhile On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee; Fare thee well! I'll think on thee, For see, distracting woman, see, My peace is gone, my heart is broken. THE MINUTE GUN. When in the storm on Albion's coast, He marks some vessel's dusky form, Swift on the shore a hardy few But oh! what rapture fills each breast Then heard is no more, By the watch on the shore, The minute gun at sea. DONALD. When first you courted me, I own Each virtue then seem'd to adorn But now the mask's thrown off, I scorn Donald, Oh! then for ever haste away, Away from love and me; Go, seek a heart that's like your own, For I'll reserve myself alone, FRESH BLOWS THE GALE, Fresh blows the gale, soon under weigh, And lost it with a tearful eye; Our little bark, by valour fraught, And gain'd fresh courage at my gun, Sir! Our captain's praise unmov'd I heard, Thought all the victor's boast but folly! Then flew to shore to claim reward, And heart for heart from pretty Polly. |