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Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
If to far India's coast we sail,

Thine eyes are seen in diamonds bright;
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white;
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn:
Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,

William shall to his dear return :
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.”

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread;
No longer must she stay aboard;

They kiss'd—she sighd-he hung his head:
The lessening boat unwilling rows to land-

Adieu !” she cries, and waved her lily hand.

THE STORM.

This poble song is generally attributed to George Alexander Stevens, a well-known actor half a century ago. It has, however, been contended that the writer was William Falconer, the author of The Shipwreck.' The air was known long before the song was popular.

Cease, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer !

List, ye landsmen, all to me!
Messmates, hear a brother sailor

Sing the dangers of the sea;
From bounding billows, fast in motion,

When the distant whirlwinds rise,
To the tempest-troubled ocean,

Where the seas contend with skies !

Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling,

By topsail-sheets and haul-yards stand! Down top-gallants quick be hauling;

Down your stay-sails, hand, boys, hand ! Now it freshens, set the braces,

Quick the topsail-sheets let go,
Luff, boys, luff! don't make wry faces,

Up your topsails nimbly clew.
Now all you on down-beds sporting,

Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms; Fresh enjoyments wanton courting,

Safe from all but love's alarms; Round us roars the tempest louder;

Think what fear our minds enthrals;
Harder yet, it yet blows harder,

Now again the boatswain calls !
The topsail-yards point to the wind, boys,

See all clear to reef each course;
Let the foresheet go, don't mind, boys,

Though the weather should be worse.
Fore and aft the spritsail-yard get,

Reef the mizen, see all clear; Hands up, each preventive-brace set,

Man the foreyard, cheer, lads, cheer!
Now the dreadful thunder 's roaring,

Peal on peal contending clash,
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring,

In our eyes blue lightnings flash.
One wide water all around us,

All above us one black sky, Different deaths at once surround us :

Hark! what means that dreadful cry? The foremast 's gone, cries every tongue out,

O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck ; A leak beneath the chest-tree's sprung out,

Call all hands to clear the wreck.

upon us !

Quick the lanyards cut to pieces :

Come, my hearts, be stout and bold :
Plumb the well—the leak increases,

Four feet water in the hold!
While o'er the ship wild waves are beating,

We for wives or children mourn;
Alas ! from hence there 's no retreating,

Alas! to them there's no return.
Still the leak is gaining on us :

Both chain-pumps are choked below-. Heav'n have

mercy

here For only that can save us now. O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys,

Let the guns o'erboard be thrown ;
To the pump let every hand, boys;

See! our mizen-mast is gone.
The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast,

We've lighten'd her a foot or more ;
Up, and rig a jury-foremast,

She rights, she rights ! boys-we're off shore. Now once more on joys we 're thinking,

Since kind Heav'n has saved our lives; Come, the can, boys ! let's be drinking

To our sweethearts and our wives.
Fill it up, about ship wheel it,

Close to lips a brimmer join ;
Where's the tempest now—who feels it ?

None-the danger 's drown'd in wine.

THE ARETHUSA.

PRINCE HOARE.
Come, all you jolly sailors bold,
Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
While English glory I unfold,

Huzza to the Arethusa !
She is a frigate tight and brave,
As ever stemm’d the dashing wave :

Her men are stannch,

To their favourite launch,
And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike we 'll all expire,

On board of the Arethusa.

'Twas with the spring-fleet she went out,
The English Channel to cruize about,
When four French sail, in show so stout,

Bore down on the Arethusa.
The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie,
The Arethusa scorn'd to fly,

Not a sheet or a tack,

Or a brace did she slack, Though the Frenchmen laugh'd and thought it stuff, But they knew not a handful of men how tough,

On board of the Arethusa.

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A health to our captain and officers true,
And all that belong to the jovial crew,

On board of the Arethusa.

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

T. CAMPBELL.
Of Nelson and the north,
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand,
In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.
Like Leviathans afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine ;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:
It was ten of April morn by the chime,
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.
But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rush'd
O'er the deadly space between.
“ Hearts of oak!” our captains cried; when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.
Again! again ! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back ;-

VOL. III.

L L

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