Aloft while mountains high we go,

The whistling winds that scud along,
And surges roaring from below,
Shall my signal be,

To think on thee;

And this shall be my song:

Blow high, blow low, &c.

And on that night when all the crew
The mem'ry of their former lives

O'er flowing cans of flip renew,

And drink their sweethearts and their wives,

I'll heave a sigh, and think on thee;

And as the ship rolls on the sea,

The burthen of my song shall be-
Blow high, blow low, &c.

TOM BOWLING.

CHARLES DIBDIN.

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 dispatches,
In vain Tom's life has doffed;
For though his body's under hatches,
His soul is gone aloft.

THE SAILOR'S CONSOLATION.

CHARLES DIBDIN.

ONE night came on a hurricane,
The sea was mountains rolling,
When Barney Buntline turn'd his quid,
And said to Billy Bowling:

"A strong nor-wester's blowing, Bill;

Hark! don't ye hear it roar now?

Lord help 'em, how I pities all

"And as for them who're out all day, On business from their houses, And late at night are coming home,

To cheer their babes and spouses; While you and I, Bill, on the deck, Are comfortably lying,

My eyes

what tiles and chimney-potsAbout their heads are flying

And very often have we heard
How men are killed and undone,
By overturns of carriages,

By thieves, and fires in London.
We know what risks all landsmen run,
From noblemen to tailors;

Then, Bill, let us thank Providence
That you and I are sailors!

HEAVING OF THE LEAD,

CHARLES DIBDIN.

FOR England when with fav'ring gale
Our gallant ship up channel steer'd,
And, scudding under easy sail,

The high blue western land appear'd;
To heave the lead the seaman sprung,
And to the pilot cheerly sung,

By the deep-nine!"

And bearing up to gain the port,

Some well-known object kept in view;·

An abbey-tow'r, the harbour-fort,

Or beacon to the vessel true;

While oft the lead the seaman flung,

And to the pilot cheerly sung,

"By the mark-seven!”

And as the much-loved shore we near,
With transport we behold the roof
Where dwelt a friend or partner dear,

Of faith and love a matchless proof.
The lead once more the seaman flung,
And to the watchful pilot sung,

66

Quarter less-five!" Now to her berth the ship draws nigh: We shorten sail-she feels the tideStand clear the cable," is the cry

The anchor's gone; we safely ride. The watch is set, and through the night, We hear the seamen with delight,

Proclaim-" All's well!"

TRUE COURAGE.

CHARLES DIBDIN.

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 bustling 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 succour distress:

For however their duty bold tars may delight in,
And peril defy, as a bugbear, a flam,
Though the lion may feel surly pleasure in fighting,

He'll feel more by compassion when turn'd 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 damn!

In me let the foe feel the paw of a lion,

But, the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb.

SWEET is the ship that under sail,
Spreads her white bosom to the gale;

Sweet, oh! sweet's the flowing can:

Sweet to poise the labouring 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-a 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.