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Poetical Scraps.

A BLACKWALL BALLAD.

AFTER THE MANNER OF MR. HOOD.

Bob Rullock was a rower stout,

And in his cap he wore

A feather, on which he plum'd himself-
The feather of his oar.

No scientific wight was he,
Of knowledge over full;
But understood phrenology,
And handled well a skull.

In rowing he took more delight,
Than if it were his trade;

A cutter 'twas, in which he row'd,
For each oar had a blade.

On shore he was both stauneh and stiff,
Nor bent to tyrant's sway;
But when he was on board a boat,
He always did "give way."

The sprightly hornpipe he could dance,
With grace and skill, I vow,
But never put out all his strength,
Till he got to the bow.

A kinder youth than he did ne'er
To please a maiden learn ;
When walking he would sweetly smile;
When rowing looked a-stern."

A widow fair he chanc'd to meet,
And ardent love he pleads;
His heart was (like his oar sometimes)
Entangled in the weeds.

Whilst rowing once, he thought of her
For whom his bosom burn'd;
He turn'd his oar within the stream,
And so he got o'er-turn'd."

When presently the coxswain cries,

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No crabs must here be caught;" Said Rob, 66 I did not think of them-I thought upon my thwart.

"

'Pray, do you angle?" ask'd a friend,
"When up the Thames you go?"
Said he, "We care not for the fish,
We only want the row."

To Gravesend with the crew he went,
(They often made such trips)
And when they got below bridge, all
Were rowing in 'mid ships.

Their boat's way oft was stopt per force
When vessels came athwart her;
Although, when rowing against time,
They lik'd not to "back water."

"What craft is that moor'd off the Tower?

The Ark it is I see;

Now if this Ark were at the Nore,

Nore's Ark it sure would be."

"A race upon our larboard bow!

They're fouling-let's give way! There seems some foul work going on, We'll go and see fair play."

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Will no one for it look? The bow-man, he should always have An eye upon the hook,"

"We must put in and bale the boat
Although we cannot stay,

For she makes water quite as fast
A's ever she makes way"

"The tide is turning: if we stop
'Twill be hard work for each:
We can't reach Blackwall 'gainst the tide,
Though we may Blackwall-reath"
"Those gibbets are remov'd, whose sight
Did make beholders cough:
There's no longer any carion
For crows to carry off."

"There's the beginning of Gravesend'
"Ah! what is that you say?"
"He speaketh truth and feeleth it,
For he seeth Erith Bay."

So now my Ballad's and Gravesend,
I've reached, but have not stated
How Robert Ruilock get a wife,
And ever since got rated.

Alas! his lady play'd him false,
So when he went ashore,
He dash'd his skull against a wall,
And thus his life gave o'er.

TOM TUG, Jun.
Wapping Old Stain,

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There's some born with their straight legs by natur,
And some is born with bow-legs from the first-
And some that, should have grow'd a good deal straighter,
But they were lady nursed,

And set, you see, like Bacchus, with their pegs
Astride of casks and kegs:

I've got myself a sort of bow to larboard,
And starboard,

And this is what it was that warp'd my legs.

'Twas all along of Poll, as I may say,
That foul'd my cable when I ought to slip;
But on the tenth of May,
When I gets under weigh,

Down there in Hartfordshire to join the ship,
I sees the mail
Get under sail,

The only one there was to make the trip.
Well-I gave chase,
But as she run

Two knots to one,

There warn't no use in keeping on the race.

Well-casting round about, what next to try on,
And how to spin,

I spies an ensign with a Bloody Lion,
And bears away to leeward for the Inn,
Beats round the gable,
And fetches up before the coach-horse stable.

Well-there they stand, four kickers in a row,
And so

I just makes free to cut a brown'un's cable. [No. 16.

But riding is'nt in a seaman's natur-
So I whips up a toughish end of yarn,
And gets a kind of sort of a land waiter,
To splice me heel to heel

Under the she-mare's keel,

And off I goes, and leaves the inn a-stern.

My eyes how she did pitch!

And would'nt keep her own to go in no line,
Tho' I kept bowsing, bowsing at her bow-line,
But always making her way to the ditch,
And yaw'd her head about all sorts of ways.
The devil sink the craft?

And was'nt she tremendous slack in stays,
We could'nt, no how, keep the inn abaft.
Well-I suppose

We had'nt run a knot-or much beyond-
(What will you have on it?)-but off she goes,
Up to her bends in a fresh water pond!

There I am!-all aback!

So I looks forward for her bridle-gears,
To heave her head round on the t'other tack;
But when I starts,

The leather parts,

And goes away right over by the ears.

What could a fellow do,

Whose legs, like mine, you know, were in the bilboes,
But trim himself upright for bringing to,

And square his yard-arms, and brace up his elbows,
In rig all snug and clever,

Just while his craft was taking in her water?
I did'nt like my birth tho', howsomdever,

Because the yarn, you see, kept getting taughter;
Says I, I wish this job was rayther shorter !

The chaise had gain'd a mile

A-head, and still the she-mare stood a drinking :
Now, all the while

Her body din't take of course to shrinking.
Says I, she's letting out her reefs, I'm thinking.
And so she swell'd, and swell'd,

And yet the tackle held,

'Til both my legs began to bend like winkin,

My eyes! but she took in enough to founder,
And there's my timbers straining every bit,
Ready to split,

And her tarnation hull a-growing rounder;

Well, there-off Hartford Ness,
We lay both lash'd and water-logg'd together,

And can't contrive a signal of distress;
Thinks I, we must ride out this here foul weather,
Tho' sick of riding out-and nothing less;
When, looking round, I sees a man a-stern ;-
Hollo! says I, come underneath her quarter;
And hands him out my knife to cut the yarn.
So I gets off and lands upon the road,
And leaves the she-mare to her own concern,
A-standing by the water.

If I get on another, I'll be blow'd;

And that's the way, you see, my legs got bow'd!

THE LEGEND OF THE

"CARMILHAN."

On the

In one of the outer Skerries dwelt two fishermen, whom early circumstances had made the Pylades and Orestes of this remote region, though their persons and tempers were as unlike as a sealgh and a sillock. Petie Winwig was a thick-set, Dutch-built, heavy-headed calf, with a broad, swollen, grinning counte nance. His cheeks rose like two lumps of blubber on each side of his nose, almost concealing that, as well as his little eyes, when he laughed. A perpetual smile of good humour and acquiescence sat upon his face, and his well fattened limbs and body shewed that care and discontent never prevented his stomach's doing its duty in an able manner. other hand, his associate and partner was a perfect wasp, both in appearance and activity. He was a lean and hungry-looking rogue, a complete spare Cassius in his way. His figure was tall and bony, with a length of arm fit for a king, and an eye as quick as a donkey's. His looks were prying and inquisitive, and the shrewdness of his features was greatly heightened by a long and hooked nose, which obtained for him among his countrymen who had been (as most of them have) in the Greenland seas, the designation of the Mallemak. This title he indeed well sustained, for he was as rapacious, and as constantly on the wing, as that unwearied bird: but he might as justly have been called a solan, or a pelican; for if he could not poise himself in the air, and plunge down, like one of them, on a shoal of fishes, he knew no bounds to his desire to obtain them: nor would the possession of all the inhabitants of the deep have satisfied his covetousness. His real name was Daniel, but he was most commonly called Spiel Trosk, the hardest driver of a bargain who ever brought goods to Lerwick

By the most incessant activity of

Spiel, and the patient industry of his co-partner, they obtained comparative wealth and consideration. At length Trosk's soul became infested with a superstitious idea that he would acquire great riches by some extraordinary means, and not by persevering labour.

and anx

His mind grew uneasy ious, and instead of wearing the air of an active man of business, with a keen and decisive glance of the eye, he shewed the restless and haggard countenance of a person bereft of his property. He began to prowl and roam about now, more in hopes of meeting with the gifts of chance than in pursuit of any determined object, and his looks grew rapacious from avarice, and angry from disappointment; still he did not neglect any of his former occupations, though he performed them with less alacrity of spirit and gratification than before; but he was wont to fall into reveries and calculations upon the nature of the event which was to fill up the measure of his covetousness, if, indeed, such a desire can be satiated.

Another phenomenon occurred to perplex him: ever on dropping to sleep he heard a certain word, which he never could remember or repeat; and at this period his visionary hopes were further excited by finding a piece of pure gold, of the size of a bullet, on the shore, early in one of his morning prowls. Convinced that the treasures he looked for lay in the sea, whence this specimen had rolled, he fished without intermission with a grapnel, about the coast adjoining; and while thus occupied upon a time, he was interrupted by a heavy squall of rain, hail, and snow, which drove with blinding fury over the ocean, full in his face; and though he cared little for weather, he thought it as well to seek shelter in a kind of cavern in the rocks, not far from where he was standing, foreseei that the tempest would not last l Hither, then, he retreated, not entering at its mouth, for the constantly poured in at that open

but by descending down a wide gap in its roof, which led by craggy steps to the cavity within. A dark and dreary retreat was this cavern, and of unusual formation, for it was not a blind cave, penetrating directly into the cliff, but a vast gallery or tunnel, which opened on one side of a steep headland, and pierced through to the other, allowing the waves to rush and tumble along its gloomy gulf, till they foamed out at the end opposite to that at which they entered. From the position of the external rocks, a constant succession of waves were directed through it, and a perpetual roar reverberated in its hollow bowels. Few but adventurous and thoughtless lads had ever ventured within its interior, and their curiosity led them not far; while the more mature, who had no motive for encountering its difficulties, were contented with warning their children not to fall down the rift that led to it, which gaped amidst a cluster of heather at the back of the promontory, and with handing down its name of the Nikkur Holl, as they had received it from their fathers. Trosk left the low beach, and hurried round the hill, to the opening that conducted to the chasm: for the storm came pelting down more angrily than he had expected, and so thickly fell the sleet, that he could scarcely see to pick his way through the peat bogs that lay at the foot of the acclivity, deluged as they were with the little rills that descended into them. He had not sought the yawn, as the mouth of the rift was called, since he had been a youth, but he found it with little difficulty. On entering, however, he perceived that its gulf was much less practicable to him now than he had been used to consider it, when younger, and more venturesome; and though he was the most expert climber within the Skerries, he felt no inclination to penetrate farther within its abyss, than was requisite to screen him from the driving. pest. At about

ten or twelve feet below the edge, there was a shelf formed by the projection of a ledge of rock, and to this he let himself down, and having seated himself at length under the lee of a block of stone, he drew out his piece of gold from his pocket, and renewed his contemplations. His chief endeavour was to recollect if he had ever heard of a vessel having been cast away near the Skerries; for to some such occurrence he attributed the presence of the golden bullet, and he wished, besides, to flatter a hope he had conceived, that this prize was only the harbinger of a greater treasure; but, with all his retrospection, he could recall no tradition of a shipwreck near his native isle: and he remained lost in amazement and doubt. Meanwhile, the face of the heavens became less obscure with clouds, the wind no longer howled over the mouth of the gulf, and the deep echoing bellow of the troubled surge within the Nikkur Holl was the only sound distinguishable. The fisherman, however, did not awaken from the reverie into which he had fallen, but remained, sitting, almost unconsciously, on the ledge within the yawn. He was calling over in his mind the names of several old persons, from whom he meant to inquire what vessels had been lost on the coast within their memory, and was scarcely aware that he was not seated by his own hearth, when a voice whispered slowly in his

ear,

Car-mil-han." ""Good God!" cried Spiel, starting up and looking fearfully down the abyss, from whence the sound seemed to come; "this is the word that haunts me in my sleep! what can it mean?” What is Carmilhan? he would have said, but he felt unwilling to pronounce the strange term, though he now recognised it as that which he had so long endeavoured to utter. He continued a few moments gazing into the dark void beneath, and listening to the roaring waves which seemed to wrestle unceasingly within the craggy entrails of the hill, till a

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